


Covalence

by ribbonelle



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007), Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015), Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drabble Collection, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Infidelity, M/M, Multi, Robogore, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-02-09 10:19:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 76
Words: 54,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1979121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ribbonelle/pseuds/ribbonelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles revolving certain Cybertronians.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. tailgate; snowflake

**Author's Note:**

> tailgate, with the prompt 'snowflake' for a drabble a day. an AU of sorts where certain mechs are still around, and certain events turned out differently.

They said his name was Snowflake, now. It was fitting, one mech said, a designation inspired by the organics. Specifically, the humans from Earth, he heard, and their third-in-command had gushed about its meaning. Drift had went on and on about how timely the name was, as it signified purity and innocence; a beautiful result from complex processes of matter change, ending in frozen water depicting an exquisite pattern. He had said that each and every snowflake had their individual arrangement. He had said that a carpet of said snowflakes would make the most pristine blanket of white.

He was also told that the name suited him well, how it implied the tale of his recovery and rebirth, how his past had been wiped into a plain, blank slate. His chassis also gleamed white from recent polishing, and the soft blue glow of his visor only made ‘Snowflake’ more plausible.

And he was glad with that name, he liked it. Other mecha seemed to accept him wholly, some being overtly glad about his survival. He had been a miracle, they said, and he was a beacon of hope for the Lost Light.

He didn’t remember anything, of course, but he was glad that everyone on the ship generally had good thoughts about him.

They called him Snowflake, and he had no qualms about the name. He could acquire a new life, a new name and new experiences and he fully intended to do so. He could leave anything from the past and despite his past intriguing him slightly, it wasn’t as if he could remember. To him, the most logical thing to do was to move on.

But what intrigued him most was probably the way his roommate, Cyclonus, groaned in his recharge during nights, long after every other mecha had gone to sleep. It sounded like the robot was hurting, at times.

And he wondered what ‘Tailgate’ meant to Cyclonus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i mostly just wanted to put all of these in one work with multiple chapters here. mostly to indulge myself. i'll probably update the collection as i write more drabbles. apologies, nevertheless, for mistakes and anything else. also tribute to tamiiland's stellar fic about tailgate losing his memory!


	2. starscream; companion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> starscream and his trine, with the prompt 'companion' for a drabble a day. i wrote this a long time ago and i don't like it much, but i do really like thinking about starscream, skywarp and thundercracker, so here's pretty much the embodiment of those thoughts. it's not good.

They weren’t friends. Not in the slightest. Thundercracker had that calm and composed thing going on, and it always seemed like he thought himself better than everyone else; than his trinemates; even if he was wise enough not to say anything about it. Skywarp was an idiotic child, pulling pranks and tricks and never, ever took anything seriously.

Starscream sometimes couldn’t comprehend why Megatron put them in a trine. Surely the leader of the Decepticons could see how much potential was wasted when Starscream had to handle the other two? _Sure,_ they could fly really well, but that was not the only factor. A trine was supposed to bond, to be of one mind and spark.

But there wasn’t a way in the Pit that would make Starscream want to bond with Thundercracker or Skywarp, and he was sure that the sentiment was mutual. He had been sure of it the moment they were introduced, and he was sure of it now.

Of course, with time, even the worst enemies could bring themselves to tolerate each other at least by the smallest degree, especially when forced into close proximity.

They still weren’t friends.

But Starscream found it easier and easier to lean against Thundercracker and let Skywarp wrap an arm or a leg around him during recharge, especially after an exhausting battle.

They were in the middle of a war, and there wasn’t really room for fixing relationships or what not, but Starscream figured that having companions weren’t so bad. Even if they didn’t like each other. They were all experiencing the same hardships, they were forced to be in situations they’d rather not participate in, and if that didn’t elicit a little bit of sympathy, then Starscream didn’t know what would.

They might not have a proper trine bond, but in moments of mutual understanding, Starscream realized that it might just be enough.


	3. starscream/thundercracker/skywarp; move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the elite trine, with the prompt 'move' for a drabble a day. i. actually don't know what to say about this one haha.

“Move, you piece of molten slag, _move, or I’ll fragging—“_

Skywarp wasn’t listening to him. No, he wasn’t, because the frame over Starscream did not attempt to get off of him; instead, draped over him even more. As impossible as that was, considering Skywarp was literally lying over him.

Of course Starscream had said something about tolerance and acceptance, but this was over the line.

The other seeker was heavy on top of Starscream, and was only making noises of acknowledgement. Starscream could feel the energon in his circuitry heat up in anger.

“I said, move, Skywarp!” There was the shrill whine of his null rays powering up but surprisingly, Skywarp reacted in an unexpected way. Instead of scrambling off the Air Commander in fear, he just reached down with a servo and pulled Starscream’s own limb away from himself, other servo haphazardly patting at Starscream’s faceplate.

“Shush. It’s okay. TC, help me out here.” Skywarp was mumbling, probably still in partial recharge. Thundercracker scooted closer to Starscream after a moment’s hesitation; he had moved away earlier when Starscream started yelling; and actually mimicked Skywarp’s actions.

Only his servos patted lightly over the span of the SIC’s wings, and his gestures were extremely gentle, “Just let him be for a little while. He’ll get off of you soon enough. Is that okay?”

They were soothing him. It was surreal.

Of course this was common enough a practice between trines, but this was Starscream’s trine and they weren’t exactly typical. One could call them dysfunctional. Physical comfort wasn’t something they exchanged with each other.

Till now.

He was supposed to lash out, probably hitting both of these dumb excuses for a Seeker right up their helms but instead he found himself relaxing, grumbling under his breath about annoying trinemates.

If his engine started rumbling in content, it wasn’t really his fault.


	4. swerve/tailgate; denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> swerve/tailgate, with the prompt 'denial' for a drabble a day. i just...really like this pairing :'>

“You sure about this, mech?”

Tailgate couldn’t help the slight huff of air in amusement at the question, especially since Swerve had mouthed them against the curve of his faceplate, just under the left side of his visor.

“Yeah, very sure. Stop asking me that, please?”

He leaned into the feel of the other minibot’s lips, humming in appreciation as his fingers slipped into the seams of Swerve’s frame. It was nice, hearing his friend’s intakes choke up a little, EM field pulsing with _good/great/more_ but this was Swerve, and Swerve never stopped talking.

“Since you asked so prettily,” he murmured, his own servos spanning the curves of Tailgate’s thighs, making the white bot squirm. “Still really flattered that you propositioned me like that. Makes a mech feel wanted, y’know? And god, do I want you.”

Tailgate laughed lightly, airily, lifting a pede to scrape it along the length of Swerve’s in a suggestive manner. 

“But like, is it okay, because I’ve always thought you were into big, purple and scary; you almost always have your optics on him at the bar so I— _oof—“_ And Tailgate had pushed Swerve down onto the bartender’s berth, effectively straddling the bot’s waist.

He hummed again, enthusiastic fingers dipping and delving into places Swerve didn’t think would feel that good, and their helms knocked against each other gently.

“Nope. Right now, my optics are only on you,” said Tailgate, his field sending a strong wave of _need/desire/interest_ that resulted in Swerve’s core temperature hiking up alarmingly fast.

If there was a trace of _denial_ in Tailgate’s signals, Swerve was wise enough not to say a word about it.


	5. starscream+soundwave; look

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> starscream+soundwave, with the prompt 'look' for a drabble a day. i reaaaaaally don't like how this one came out tbh but. fwah. they're pretty out of character, i'm sorry.

He hated the feeling. He absolutely loathed it, this insecurity.

He was Starscream, _Lord_ Starscream, Air Commander of the Decepticons, Second-in-Command. His confidence levels were higher than the altitudes he flew and there wasn’t a reason for him to doubt himself.

But he was certainly doubting himself right now. All because of a stupid, unfeeling, _drone._

This was pathetic. Starscream knew he looked good, having other mechs’ attention on him wasn’t something he was a stranger to. He didn’t need the attention but he sure appreciated it; a constant reminder of how attractive he could be. Optics were usually on him whenever he went into the control room, be it from lesser mechs, or fellow ranking ones.

Except for one.

Soundwave had never expressed much acknowledgement towards Starscream aside from their meetings or when Megatron was involved, and Starscream had been more than fine with that. He couldn’t care less about Soundwave.

But here they were. For the entire cycle, he had felt the gaze of that red visor on him. Following his every move, tracking even the agitated  flicks of his wings. The frustrating thing was that whenever Starscream whipped his head around, Soundwave wasn’t looking in his direction.

Which was _impossible,_ because there had been the definite sensation of Soundwave’s visor on him, even if it was almost imperceptible. Starscream wasn’t that immature to make it up in some sort of boredom-induced hallucination. His battle-honed senses were also sharp enough to know when a mech was looking at him.

But why would Soundwave do such a thing, and why the Pit hadn’t Starscream caught him at it yet?

He paced the working space in slight distress, wings flicking up every two kliks, detesting the fact that something simple could rile him up so. A flash of a red visor, and Starscream glanced again, but no. Soundwave was still religiously facing the monitors.

The sound he made in frustration was not unlike a turbofox getting strangled.

Meanwhile, Soundwave was enjoying keeping Starscream on edge. Despite the tape deck rarely indulging himself, messing with the obnoxious SIC was something he secretly liked. Let’s just say that Soundwave’s cycle was looking promising.


	6. tailgate; tremble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tailgate, with the prompt 'tremble' for a drabble a day. ohhh this is probably really out of character (?) but i had the intense urge to write tailgate angry. just really angry.

He looked down at his servos. It was almost unnoticeable, but there was a tremble to them. He wanted to believe that it was the cybercrosis taking effect, making him lose control of his motor function but he knew in reality, that wasn’t it. He was anxious, thoughts and feelings flitting agitatedly through his processor, sending bursts of signals to his neural net. He can’t seem to stop, he was so _furious_ inside, his thoughts going haywire. He’d crash if he didn’t calm himself, but for once, he didn’t care.

Didn’t want to conform himself to whatever the Universe wanted him to do, didn’t want to give in. He was so _angry._ His EM field was flaring with _hurt/injustice/frustration_ and he retracted it close to himself, in some sense of self-restraint but all it did was make him feel like he was choking on his own misery.

He hated this. This wasn’t fair. Why him, out of every mech on this Primus forsaken ship? A horrible thought, but hadn’t he been through so much already? Did it _have_ to be him? From the web of lies he had weaved, nothing great could happen to him? Only slag after pile of slag and it wasn’t _fair,_ it wasn’t _fair._

He was shaking hard, there on his berth, the metal of his pedes now clanging against each other slightly, and he wanted to short out, wanted to just—

The door to his hab suite opened, and he didn’t online his visor, didn’t look up. _Let him see_ , he thought viciously, _Let him see that I’m falling to fragging pieces. You wanted me to drop dead? Well, wish came true! Get_ out _, get out get out get out_

Instead, there was a servo on his back, steadying him, and Tailgate couldn’t have flinched harder at the contact. His visor stayed offline despite his bodily jerk; he refused to look at Cyclonus; but the servo stayed, a warm and solid weight. It did nothing to calm him down, it just made his loathing more intense and he waited for Cyclonus to say something demeaning, something dripping with pity so he could have a reason to strike just once…but there was nothing.

The hand stayed, Tailgate’s shaking ceased. He was still angry, but the feeling had dimmed into an ache deep in his spark.

It wasn’t fair.

It was happening anyway.

He onlined his visor, and moved away from that servo, off the berth and onto the floor, not acknowledging Cyclonus. He could feel red optics on him but no words were exchanged as he walked out of the hab suite, never looking back. The anger had mellowed into something less violent, but it was there, present. Tailgate could do nothing about it, and he realized that.

Maybe this was penance, for everything he’d done in his lifetime. He could at least relate with retribution.

His servos never trembled again.


	7. tailgate/cyclonus; sunset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tailgate/cyclonus, with the prompt 'sunset' for a drabble a day. ha. i'm not sure if i conveyed this right but i really felt that this was intensely fluffy my teeth hurt. yeah.

The scenery was breathtakingly gorgeous. There were three suns visible on this planet, and the sight of each of them setting was indescribable. A soft orange glow was set upon the landscape, as the other two suns dimmed gradually, forming a descending line of golden lights.

Tailgate was distracted by the sheer beauty of the phenomenon, blue visor glinting in the suns’ fading brightness. A rumble of an engine snapped him back to reality, and the servo cupping his helm shifted. He redirected his gaze to Cyclonus, brightening his visor in silent apology.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said the warrior, voice a low burr, his own red optics darkened to sultry embers.

“Very,” Tailgate nodded, taking a glance at the dipping suns one more time before refocusing on the mech in front of him, his helm lowered to follow the path of his own servos down the rough plating of Cyclonus’ armor.

Cyclonus didn’t let him do that for long; lifting the minibot’s helm after a while. He leaned, pressing lips against the smooth cover of Tailgate’s face mask, tilting his own helm to deliver a number of open-mouthed kisses.

Tailgate made a noise of appreciation, revelling in the feel of soft derma against him. His servos kept on its journey nevertheless, making up for his lack of mouth with enthusiasm, as he tilted his helm in some sort of reciprocation. His murmurs and hums never stopped; Cyclonus adored his noises. He adored Cyclonus’ adoration.

An ex-vent, as Tailgate turned his face to let Cyclonus’ lips slide slowly along his plating. There wasn’t much charge between them, despite the way electricity spit small sparks whenever Tailgate’s fingers dipped into gaps in the jet’s armor. They were in no rush, just languidly indulging in each other’s touch under the glow of the setting suns. _Romantic,_ Tailgate’s processor supplied, and he found that amusing more than anything. And great. Really, really great.

He kept on finding his gaze straying towards the setting suns, though, and that elicited a little guilt. He loved touching Cyclonus this way, but the view really was wonderful. He hadn’t set eyes on anything this beautiful since…ever, probably.

In a while, Cyclonus huffed in amusement himself, parting from Tailgate’s face with a light flick of his glossa. “Do you wish to watch the suns set?”

“Don’t you?” Tailgate replied, looking at Cyclonus with curiosity.

“I’d rather watch you.”

The minibot’s energy field flared with embarrassment, feeling a little sheepish from his obvious failure at prioritization, but Cyclonus slid his servos down and lifted Tailgate gently, shifting to the side. It ended up with Tailgate seated in Cyclonus’ lap, his back aligned with the warrior’s front, and large arms snaked their way around the minibot’s waist.

Tailgate squirmed a little to get himself comfortable, before glancing up at Cyclonus, “Is this okay?”

“More than okay,” said the jet, and he indulged himself by toying with one of Tailgate’s shoulder tires, leaning to resume pressing his lips to the side of the minibot’s helm.

Tailgate sighed, fingers absently intertwining with Cyclonus’ free servo, as he watched the suns set. At times he would lift his helm up and brighten his visor in acknowledgment, leaning further into the warrior’s touch.

Life was good.


	8. starscream/thundercracker/skywarp; winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the elite trine, with the prompt 'winter' for a drabble a day. just imagine some chickens rolling around in snow.

There was a certain allure to this dirt ball of a planet called Earth, Thundercracker had said once, but Starscream couldn’t for the life of him, see it.

It had a chaotic excuse of a climate; seasons changing as fast as the landscape does; with everything being different at different parts of the globe. Utterly ridiculous.

And at the moment, everything was just white. Flakes of ice set in a pattern, falling down to the ground to just drape everything in white, and Starscream was getting antsy.

The drop in temperature was making his wing joints lock if he didn’t move them often, and that was annoying. Same goes to the fact that he could find the stupid white flakes all over his chassis, and they didn’t do much, just made him look like a fool.

Not as big of a fool as Skywarp was, apparently.

“Come on! TC, Screamer, this is _really_ fun.”

Said Seeker was on his back on the ground, wings laid flat against the snow-covered road, literally rolling around in the half-frozen slush. What a disgrace.

“Stop being an idiot and get up, Skywarp, we have to get going.”

“But Staaarscream,” white lips curved into a sulky pout, “It’s not gonna take long, just try this once, come on. The snow feels pretty great when you lie down on it, really.”

The plea only resulted in Starscream rolling his eyes with exaggeration. Which led to Skywarp taking extreme measures. A wide smirk, and suddenly he was gone, the sound of displaced air noticed too late by the Trine leader.

One flash, and Skywarp had his arms around Starscream, tackling his leader down onto the snow. Thundercracker’s jaw had dropped several kliks ago.

A certain Seeker was to meet his doom very soon.

What happened instead, was Starscream cuffing Skywarp’s helm really hard, before the Air Commander paused and grabbed a fist of snow in contemplation. He cocked his head at the sensation of being aft-deep in literal ice, before glancing up at Thundercracker, optic ridge raised.

“What are you looking at? Get down here.”

He spluttered, “What?! But I—“

A ball of snow hurtled through the air and smacked him right in the faceplates, cutting him off. Skywarp snorted aloud, one hand on the fresh dent he had, the other covering his mouth to muffle giggles. Starscream had a smug, challenging smirk on his own face and Thundercracker had to relent. He went down with the intent to do some serious damage.

If one were to observe the snow-covered hills from afar, it would have seemed as if there were giant, multi-colored birds squabbling with each other on the ground, kicking up snow and squawking indignantly.


	9. skyfire/starscream; letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> skyfire/starscream with the prompt 'letters' for a drabble a day. this is so implausible but yknow. i think this was my first attempt at writing them ever. so you'll understand why it's so awkward.

_I miss you,_ the letter stated, glyphs etched in familiar writing, _Why won’t you come be with me? Stop fighting, Star._

The Decepticon Air Commander made a noise of disgust, rolling his eyes to himself afterwards. He subspaced the letter, anyway.

//

Skyfire picked up the wrinkled paper from its place; wedged in between some rocks. He had seen Starscream shoot at this general area joors ago, even when there were no Autobots there. It was a signal Skyfire knew to look out for.

He brushed his fingers over the hastily written glyphs first, a wave of nostalgia rushing over him momentarily. How many times had he gazed upon this same writing, deciphering lecture notes?

 _Stop being foolish, Skyfire. Nothing can be the way it was,_ it read, as if replying the shuttle’s monologue, _You didn’t choose me. So be it._

_//_

He snarled, punching the wall above his berth. The metal of the wall dented, as did some of his knuckles.

_I have chosen you every time. But I refuse to choose your path. What good will come out of this? Do you know how much it pains me, seeing you obliterate good mechs while knowing that you could have done better things, great things? Do you even remember what peace used to be like? Do you even remember my promise to you?_

Starscream remembered; of course he remembered; and it was because of that memory that he punched the wall till the dent was as deep as his fist, and his knuckles were scraped raw.

//

It hurt. It _hurt._

_Peace? You call being mocked as a warbuild in the field of science, peace? You call discrimination, peace? And how dare you bring that up, you miserable piece of slag, how DARE you even speak of what you promised, you absolute pitspawn we were supposed to be bonded but you left, you LEFT I HATE YOU I FRAGGING HATE YOU_

But of course, it was expected. Skyfire couldn’t deny that this was typical Starscream, with his sharp, hurtful words. It hurt, but it gave Skyfire some hope.

Starscream hadn’t changed completely.


	10. skyfire/starscream; future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> skyfire/starscream with the prompt 'future' for a drabble a day. //lies down and thinks of things that could have been. i don't know.

There wasn’t a sound aside from the low thrum of engines; two, to be exact; in the upper laboratories of the Iacon Science Academy. There wasn’t a sentient being in sight as well, save those two mechs, as it was the holidays for the vorn, and most of the students have no desire of being anywhere near their university for the time being. It was peaceful in a way, complete silence in the hallways of the prestigious buildings. It made Starscream feel serene.

Of course, he had chosen to stay during the break. He and his lab partner had decided to remain in the academy to spend more time on a project they had mutually decided on; an energon refinery system that might just help the less fortunate members of the society; something that took cycles of research and decacycles of assembling.

Starscream onlined his optics slowly, dimming them just so before noting Skyfire’s heavy arm draped over his chassis. Gently as he could, the Seeker tried to move from under it but the shuttle’s hold suddenly tightened, keeping him in place. Starscream made a noise of amusement.

They were currently in one of the lounges of the upper levels of the laboratory buildings, rooms created for rest and leisure. Which was exactly what they were here for, to get some recharge before continuing their work.

Starscream shifted a little, servos blindly reaching up for Skyfire’s faceplates. He himself was lying over the shuttle’s form, his helm resting over a chest plate, the edges of his thrusters lined aside Skyfire’s knee joints.

He murmured, the pitch of his voice lower than usual, laced with the remnants of recharge, “I’m sure I made it clear enough that I was to wake in half a joor. Let me up.”

There wasn’t a sign to confirm that Skyfire had heard him, but there were fingers running under his left wing after his words, a gentle pressure.

“Two joors,” came the reply. “At least so you can complete a defrag cycle?”

The Seeker huffed, squirming to resituate himself, scooting a little higher to meet Skyfire’s optics. It was uncomfortable, his cockpit glass scraping against the metal of Skyfire’s front, but he couldn’t care less. Starscream intended to give his partner a stern look or a glare, but he couldn’t help leaning down instead, lazily pressing their mouths together in a sleepy kiss.

Skyfire hummed pleasantly, his servos sliding to rub soothing circles over Starscream’s wing joints and they kissed, open mouths finding each other languidly.

Starscream licked at the soft metal of Skyfire’s lips a few times, before settling down to press an audial against plating, listening to his engine rumble, “One joor. You don’t need to get up if you’d rather not. Just don’t trap me in with your huge arms.”

He’d never admit it to anyone, but Skyfire’s laughter was one of the best things in his life.

“What, you mean like this?” The shuttle lifted his arms and wrapped them tightly around Starscream, mindful of his wings. Then he squeezed, and the Seeker gasped aloud in surprise, before struggling to escape.

“ _Skyfire!”_

Skyfire chuckled and loosened his hold, lifting his helm to apologetically nuzzle at Starscream’s face, “Just wanted to make sure.”

“You’re an idiot,” Starscream punched at his shoulder (albeit gentler than usual), giving him a sulky pout.

Skyfire would never admit it either, not in public, but he could never get enough of Starscream’s lips. So he proceeded to capture them in a quick kiss, before retracting his arms, servos cupping his Seeker’s helm. He nudged their noses together, gently, murmuring, “Two joors. Please?”

It took a while to cajole the aspiring scientist, it took quite a number of kisses to gray faceplates and even more soft words but Starscream relented eventually, sighing like he was doing the world a really big favour. He returned to his perch over Skyfire’s chestplates and absently etched glyphs over the plating, before falling back into recharge breems later.

Skyfire fell asleep with one of Starscream’s smaller servos in his, their fingers interlaced, and neither of them had a worry about the past, the present or the future in their processors. There were just the two of them in their world, and that was all that seems to matter.

(If only they knew.)


	11. swerve/tailgate; simple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> swerve/tailgate, with the prompt 'simple' for a drabble a day. i wanted to write them being all casual with each other but...sort of failed. i don't like this one. bleh.

It was simple, these little things they engaged in.

Too simple, sometimes, but Swerve had to concur with the fact that they weren’t really under circumstances that would allow commitment, nor anything as serious. They _could,_ of course, Chromedome and Rewind had been shining examples for that but then again, they weren’t Chromedome and Rewind.

Tailgate had things he worried about, internal conflicts that everyone knew existed, but never bothered to listen to. He had been through too much, so simplicity would be something he could get comfortable with, hopefully, Swerve wouldn’t want to push him into anything.

And plus, Swerve has got issues, Pits, his _issues_ had issues; they just weren’t taken with much regard, either. It wasn’t as bad as most of the crew on board; the Lost Light held some real fragged up mechs, truly; but they weren’t exactly petty. (He didn’t like himself, but that hardly mattered, in comparison to everyone else’s problems.)

But this thing they had, it was great. It wasn’t exclusive, probably; Tailgate was so fragging cute, how could it be exclusive?; but it made Swerve feel good about himself, made Tailgate’s visor shine in that bright way he adored, so it was great. Really great.

Simple, in the way that they were still real good friends, but not just that. Tailgate would stop by at the bar and they’d talk, about things on Tailgate’s mind, or new gossip Swerve had heard over the counter. Sometimes Tailgate would sit with Cyclonus or other mechs, and spend time with them; and he’d brighten his visor in acknowledgement every time Swerve walked by. Swerve never gave up his brilliant pranks either, and when the victim was Tailgate…well, making up for his jokes were just something to look forward to.

And aside from being amiable as always, Swerve could get away with sneaky gropes in public, and get rewarded with Tailgate reprimanding him later. Which always, always lead to Swerve trying to coax forgiveness out of the other minibot, and that was more fun than difficult. They weren’t official, or anything, but Tailgate didn’t mind public displays of affection at times, and Swerve was more than happy to display said affection for Tailgate.

But being not exclusive meant that it was perfectly okay for any other mech to make a pass at either one of them, and that wasn’t easy. Not at all.

Again, they weren’t under optimal circumstances to get on with a full-fledged relationship, and Swerve wasn’t sure how serious Tailgate was about this whole… _fling_ anyway, so he didn’t really have a right to demand assurances. Tailgate could have anyone he wanted, if he did, and it probably was the same for Swerve but the thought made him burn, it made him want to serve poison-laced energon to whoever gave the disposal mech sultry glances and suggestive smiles.

But. Of course. He hadn’t the right.

Things were supposed to be simple and remain that way, and Swerve fully intended to not complicate things, in fear that complications would lead to an end.

As long as simplicity meant that Tailgate would still cup Swerve’s face in white servos sometimes, and knock his faceplate against the side of Swerve’s mouth in a mock kiss then Swerve was okay with it. He was okay with being simple.


	12. cyclonus+tailgate; contentment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um. i was feeling melancholy when i wrote this, i think. this doesn't even mean anything i just robots touching each other in the most innocent way possible.

His helm scraped lightly against the wall beside the berth, looking up at his roommate. There was something melancholic in the soft-blue glow of his visor, and even more so in the way his figure was slumped.

 It made Cyclonus’ spark ache.

So he reached forward, too big hands moving to rest over Tailgate’s shoulders, fingers skittering over the white metal of his plating. He had this inexplicable fear of scuffing the minibot despite never expressing it, always in doubt of his own strength when it came to Tailgate.

The melancholy was still present but Tailgate tilted his helm to the side, against Cyclonus’ fingers. His own hands lifted, tracing the undersides of the jet’s arms. Cyclonus vented out a gust of air, in some sort of disapproval but Tailgate only looked at him, as if taking in every dip and edge of Cyclonus’ visage, keeping it in memory.

He hated how he could think of Tailgate as endearing. He never thought of anything as endearing before, but here he was.

There was no knowing what compelled him to lean down and press his mouth against Tailgate’s visor, just lightly, like he’d never done it before.

But there was no mistaking the way his spark flickered at the little sigh the minibot let out. Tailgate sounded content.


	13. skyfire/starscream; fraternization (nsfw-ish)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little nsfw. ish. this also doesn't make sense //buries face in pillow

“I can’t bring myself to hate you,” Skyfire said a little wearily, arms tightening around his love’s frame, refamiliarizing himself with the contours of Starscream’s plating, “And I’ve tried really, really hard.”

Starscream toyed with Skyfire’s front, red optics dimmed to sultry embers, “I wonder why is that. Couldn’t you stay away from me?”

Skyfire didn’t even dignify that with an answer, rumbling low and tipping his helm to the side to scrape dentae against the jet’s neck cables in obvious irritation. Starscream laughed breathlessly, before the noise hiked up into a gasp and a low moan, his back strut bending in a sensuous arc against Skyfire’s chassis.

He hadn’t been squirming in Skyfire’s lap before, but he sure was now. “Ah… Skyfire…”

A low growl reverberated from Skyfire’s front through Starscream’s frame, even more so as the shuttle murmured, “I’ve had clips running through my mind during recharge of you saying my name like that. It’s still the same.”

“Some things never change, huh?” panted the jet, servos pawing at Skyfire’s shoulders, the way he pressed up against the Autobot a little more desperate now, wanting. He couldn’t lie to himself for long, not when with Skyfire.

Another deep rumble and Skyfire tilted Starscream backwards, gently laying his jet on the ground, looming over the lithe frame. Starscream was partial to Skyfire being above him; only certain moods allowed Skyfire to wholly envelope the other mech; but as of now, he writhed, red optics flickering with desire as he traced Skyfire’s plating teasingly.

Skyfire leaned down for a kiss, wanting to cover Starscream completely with his bulk. He wanted to take the jet away from everything that had ever kept them apart, from the world. He wanted Starscream all to himself.

Their mouths parted after a while, with Skyfire looking down at the bane of his existence, at the best thing that had ever happened to him.

“You are going to be the death of me,” he confessed, and Starscream smiled with his optics dimmed; one of his most genuine smiles yet.

“If not me, who else?”


	14. skyfire/starscream; angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is this REALLY good playlist on 8tracks by sumdac, called frigid for skyfire/starscream. one of the songs is Oh Well by Fiona Apple, and i was inspired.  
> still doesn't make sense.

_You came upon me like a hypnic jerk_   
_When I was just about settled_   
_And when it counts you recoil_   
_With a cryptic word and leave a love belittled_

 “Do you really think I’m to blame for everything that had happened?” Skyfire’s blue optics burned brightly with astonishment, laced with hurt at the accusation spat out at him. His voice had gone quiet, and Starscream knew that his answer would determine the route of which their relationship would take.

He was terrified, despite the challenging, defying glint in his own red optics.

His vents stuttered before he opened his mouth, but he forced Skyfire to ignore that by raising his voice, “You came back with all the innocence and obliviousness of being in ice for millions of years, and you expect me to just fall back in your arms like nothing had changed? I know _I_  can’t expect much from you, but don’t you dare think of me the same anymore! I’ve changed. Everything’s changed. And all you are capable of doing now is just making me feel like a piece of useless molten slag! I  _hate_ it.”

Skyfire’s optics flickered at the last sentence, and there was nothing but silence till the shuttle spoke, just as quietly as before.

“But I love you.”                                                                                   

Starscream curled his servos into fists so hard that the plating of his palms dented, creating grooves in the impressions of his fingertips.

“No, you don’t. Not me,” the words felt like poison slipping through his lips, “The Starscream you love is long dead.”


	15. swerve/tailgate + cyclonus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry. i am. but i had the urge to just make cyclonus...confused. and probably insecure. i don't know. suggestive themes below.

A blue visor brightened at him in surprise, before it narrowed in genuine mirth, Tailgate laughing in slight embarrassment, fingers covering his faceplate demurely. Swerve found that endearing, despite being a little confused.

“Cyclonus? Gosh, no. I mean, we’ve gotten close and everything but I really doubt I’d ever ask him for… _that._  We’re just really good friends! It helps that he was the only mech I recognized when I first came aboard, you know? That’s a really funny thought.”

Swerve’s mouth did that thing where it dropped low on one side, clearly puzzled, “And here I thought you two were definitely doing it. You’re not even a little interested?”

Tailgate swirled his drink with the curly straw he had, before leaning to take a sip. He shrugged, feet kicking air lightly as he considered Swerve’s question, “Hmm, no? I’ve never thought about it, that’s for sure.  I really like him, but not like that. I think?” He chuffed air slightly then, a little displeased now, “You really shouldn’t be assuming stuff like that, Swerve.  It makes everything awkward and complicated.”

The metallurgist-turned-bartender backpedalled, “Hey, yeah maybe, so I’m sorry for that, but really now. A cute ‘bot like you? I would have guessed you were at least sharing someone’s berth, and your suitemate seemed like an obvious candidate. But sorry for jumping to conclusions, mech.”

There was silence as Tailgate accepted the apology and probably digested Swerve’s words. His visor brightened up once again, in a seemingly innocent way but with what Swerve had learned to interpret as teasing.

Sweet.

“Sooo,” Tailgate dragged the word, cocking his head to a side, “You think I’m cute, huh? How come I’ve never heard of that before?”

“You kidding? Literally every mech on this ship knows that you’re cute, it’s a well-acknowledged fact. Cutest thing in the Lost Light. Heck, cutest thing in the  _multiverse_!”

Tailgate choking on his drink because of embarrassment was also terribly, incredibly adorable. The minibot tried to muster up a reprimanding tone, nevertheless, and failed spectacularly, “Oh that is such a load of scrap! Flattery is one thing, okay, but that’s pretty much edging into blatant lies there, Primus.”

Swerve flailed his arms around, the way he does when excited or trying to prove a point, “But it’s true! Well, at least  _I_ think so. Ain’t that enough?”

The disposal bot stared at Swerve a while, visor to visor, before the blue light dimmed and he leaned closer, EM field emanating something Swerve was sure made even the strongest mech’s knees buckle in want.

Tailgate now had a hand around his glass and he slid the fingers wrapped around it up and down, almost like it wasn’t a deliberate move. Swerve could only pray that his fans didn’t blast on full power there and then.

“Maybe. But you might wanna convince me, just in case?”

His fans  _did_ power up right after the suggestion, but it didn’t matter anymore to Swerve. They were on the same wave here, what else could matter more?

He leaned against the counter of the bar, a move he had always seen done in the cheesy fictional movies he’d watched back in Cybertron, and it felt pretty great to execute the gesture himself now. “Sure. I think I might let it really sink in how absolutely cute I think you are. Sometime after the bar closes?”

“It’s a date,” purred Tailgate, pushing his drink to the side and closed his mouthpiece, dimming one side of his visor in an obvious wink. He got off the high stool he’d been sitting on and waved a little, “See you later then, Swerve. I’m gonna go freshen up.”

“Okay. Bye, cutie!” It was hard to resist adding the term of endearment, but Tailgate’s annoyed/flustered visor flash made it totally worth it. And Swerve was  _so_ not checking out that pert aft as the other minibot exited his bar.

He had no idea how he was supposed to man the counter for the remaining joor and not think about what was to come.

//

Something was different today.

Of course Cyclonus sat farther than anyone else did, his own special corner at Swerve’s, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of everything that happened around him. In fact, he made it a habit to observe his fellow shipmates, just for the sake of keeping up with what was occurring in the Lost Light.

Swerve’s was a flurry of activity, every single night, and gossip was traded freely here as more tongues were loosened. It was amusing some days, exasperating on others.

But tonight…There was something off.

Cyclonus couldn’t pinpoint what it was before he noticed his suitemate’s feet still in the air; the air kicking he did was always present in Cyclonus’ peripheral vision. He gave Tailgate a subtle glance and almost dropped his glass of mid-grade.

There was no mistaking or misreading the intent thrumming through Tailgate’s form as he leaned closer towards Swerve, and judging by the gobsmacked look on the bartender’s? Swerve had caught on. Quite fast, too, giving the amount of time the gaping morphed into something like keen interest.

Tailgate and Swerve?

…Ew.

Or rather, not ew, because there was a certain allure to how Tailgate was holding his glass suggestively, and to how Swerve was leaning over the counter in an open display of interest and whoa there, Cyclonus. That had to be enough mid-grade for the day.

The jet frowned, seemingly to himself, but Tailgate chose the moment to leave the bar, waving at Swerve lightly. His hips swayed a little more than usual as he walked, Cyclonus noted in irritation, but he stopped short a ways from the exit, seeing Cyclonus in the mech’s usual corner.

His visor brightened in an acknowledging smile and he waved once in enthusiasm, but he kept on walking and eventually, left the bar.

He didn’t even stop to say hello, the way he usually does.

Cyclonus felt oddly rejected.

He forced the remnants of his mid-grade down his throat before wiping his mouth with the back of a hand, glancing towards the infamous bartender of the Lost Light. Swerve had the most slag-eating grin on his face, and his visor was shining too-bright, like he’d just gone through the greatest quest of his lifetime.

Probably the case, thought Cyclonus acerbically. Why he was so bitter, even he himself couldn’t tell.


	16. swerve/tailgate; NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literally why i rated this collection as explicit. nothing but porn, here. and light contemplations maybe. i'm not good at writing swerve or tailgate to be honest, so apologies.

Too far gone.

The slide up and down his spike was delicious, sinfully so, and Swerve was sure he had a place in the Pits already if he kept listening to Tailgate’s high moans as the disposal bot bounced in his lap.

Tailgate was the most adorable thing in the world, even when a spike was high up his valve, especially when his visor dimmed and brightened with their rhythm.

“Primus, ‘Gate. Is it good?”

Swerve curled his fingers into the spaces of Tailgate’s shoulder tires, and made the other minibot wail before nodding frantically.

“Uhuh!” he vented air in little gasps, visor offline now as his head tilted back in pleasure, “You’re in really d-deep.”

The light stutter of Tailgate’s words made Swerve offline his visor as well, for a klik, in some form of self-restraint before he resumed taking in every little detail of the minibot riding his spike like it was an old Cybertronian sport. In a way it was, but Swerve was too far gone to make that observation public.

Tailgate’s writhing was doing little for Swerve’s self control, much less the way his waist stretched back with his posture. His visor was still off when he spoke up, words laced with static and his vents blasting at full power, “S-Swerve.  _Ahn_ , Swerve, I’m gonna—“

That did it. Swerve wrapped his arms around Tailgate’s waist firmly and drove up into the minibot  _hard_ , every thrust resulting in loud hitches in Tailgate’s venting. It was adorable. Tailgate was so processor blowingly  _desirable,_  Swerve thought, as he overloaded with a drawn out moan, filling up what little space was left in the hot valve he had his spike in.

He kept bucking his hips though, as Tailgate brought himself to climax and came with a shriek, frame shuddering hard over Swerve.  He slumped down soon after, murmuring in satisfaction till Swerve gently lifted his aft, reluctantly pulling Tailgate off of his spike. The disposal bot made a noise of protest, squirming in discomfort at the fluid trailing out of his valve and Swerve was just simply floored by how fragging cute it was.

He’s a lost mech.

But he ended up cuddling Tailgate on his lap nevertheless,  absently nuzzling the minibot’s helm, rumbling in content at the light petting Tailgate gave him in return. He hummed a little while afterwards, “That was good, right?”

“Mhm. Very. I really needed that. So thanks, Swerve.” Tailgate bumped his faceplate lightly against the top of Swerve’s helm in appreciation.

They had started this in the name of stress relief, and Swerve couldn’t help but hope Tailgate would be stressed again soon enough. And he’d need relief. Hopefully he’d need relief every day of his existence because Swerve would gladly oblige.

He was too far gone.


	17. optimus prime/prowl (TFA); Idol/Fan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP. more like a happenstance that occurred in canon; just recently after the maintenance crew found prowl and he joined them.

“Alright, this is getting creepy,” Bumblebee piped up; standing up from his rock he had been sitting on, “Why in the Pits are you always staring at Prime like that?”

Prowl tore his gaze away from the maintenance crew, arching an optic ridge at the minibot. He sounded perfectly calm, however, “Isn’t it obvious? I’m observing him.”

“Is that some cyberninja code for an obsession?”

“Of course not,” Prowl scoffed, turning his head to watch Optimus Prime hack away at rocks with an axe, “He’s fascinating. There’s a sort of calm emanating from his very frame, and it’s unusual. I’ve never quite met anyone like him.”

Bumblebee glanced at their leader, before smirking, “Sounds like you’ve got a crush.”

The ninja paused a while, seemingly to think about Bumblebee’s words before shrugging, “I suppose I do. I’d call him an idol rather than something as juvenile as a crush, nevertheless. “

This was really just so weird for Bumblebee. It was also great. He brought his hands to cup them around his mouth, hollering, “Hey, Prime!”

Optimus Prime was in the midst of swinging his axe down, continuing the motion to split a rock in half before pulling himself up, a curious look on his faceplates directed at his teammate.

“Prowl here says he idolizes you!”

Optimus seemed a little stunned, not sure what had happened to incite such a statement from the mini, and Prowl looked like he couldn’t care less. The Prime glanced back at Ratchet and Bulkhead though, smiling slightly, “Guys, I think it’s time for a break. We’ll continue in a cycle.”

Ignoring the medic’s relieved groan and Bulkhead’s weary response, Optimus Prime made his way to the sitting cyberninja, amusement in his optics. He sat down in front of the mech, legs folding underneath him.

“So what’s this about idols?”

“I merely shared with Bumblebee that I think of you that way.”

“Interesting,” Optimus hummed, “But I think it’d be a little awkward.”

“Why so?”

“Because I admire you too, in a way. You’re always diligent with your meditation and you have a strong belief in your principles. You inspire me, and we’ve only just met.” Optimus Prime’s smile was really kind, and he spoke with nothing but sincerity.

Out of all the things, Optimus’ words were what flustered Prowl, his visor brightening in an instant before he tilted his head in another direction, fighting to control his expression, “…Thank you, Prime. That means a lot.”

From a distance, Bumblebee leaned against Bulkhead, simultaneously amused and exasperated, “Look at that. Gross.”

“I think they’re actually really cute,” snickered Bulkhead and grinned at the mini’s loud scoff.

“Oh leave them alone, will ya? Get in the ship and bring out some energon, you lazy pieces of junk metal!” Ratchet scolded, leaving the two young mechs scrambling to do as he said before the medic launched into a full-blown rant. Ratchet harrumphed, before folding his arms, watching the remaining two mechs engaged in a discussion, all quiet tones and sweet smiles.

The medic couldn’t help a fond smile himself. They looked good together.


	18. tailgate/???; anonymous love letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP. slightly suggestive. oh man this was so dumb. also OOC. i also think i did blaster wrong so apologies for that. but wfjdf

Blaster watched the minibot fidget, little feet shifting in a show of restlessness. It was cute, but then Tailgate was sort of cute incarnate.

“I’m tellin’ ya, TG, there is no way a message could reach this ship from the outside if it ain’t through me. So whatever you’ve got must been from someone in the inside.”

“Oh, okay,” said Tailgate, visor flashing for a while before he shifted again, his fists curling and uncurling. Blaster took pity on him.

“Do ya want me to cut off the feed coming in to you? I can make it possible that you don’t get messages from that particular line, encrypted or not.”

There was a pause, but Tailgate shook his head, “No, it’s okay. It’s not that bad, I just sort of want to know who’s sending me these.”

Blaster nodded, “Wish I could help, but that’s some high class encryption goin’ on there. Sorry, kid.”

Tailgate brightened his visor in a smile, “It’s no problem, Blaster. Just thought I’d ask you. Now if you’ll excuse me…” He left, a little distracted by the glyphs still running through his HUD. The message was describing how alike his white plating was to the pearlescent marble embedded in the towers of Vos.

It was a little overwhelming.

//

He ended up at Swerve’s; as do the rest of the Lost Light crew during some point of the day; sitting on the counter, sipping at his drink. The messages kept on coming, a little alert at the side of his HUD containing glyphs of flattering descriptions and compliments. He really didn’t know who they were from, but they were obviously directed to him.

He was debating internally on informing Cyclonus about the messages, but he figured it wouldn’t do to make the flier unnecessarily angry. Though, a possessive Cyclonus was really, _really_ attractive…

His thoughts were once again disrupted by the ping of a message alert. He opened it up, taking a sip of his drink again and almost choked on the energon through his oral intake. How lewd! He didn’t even know this mech!

Tailgate spun around on his seat, visor narrowing as he scanned the bar. No one was currently watching him. Which was to be expected, but it _must_ have been someone here! He had been kicking his feet the way he always does when sitting at Swerve’s counter, and the message had _explicitly_ stated what the sender would like to do with his ‘divine, perky aft that wouldn’t stop bouncing oh so temptingly’. The nerve!

But there really wasn’t anyone watching him. Unless they averted their gaze right before Tailgate spun around…Oh, Cyclonus was here too. Tailgate’s mood lifted immediately, and he raised a hand to wave at his roommate at the corner booth of the bar. Cyclonus caught the motion his with optics, and lifted the mid-grade he was drinking in acknowledgement.

Right after their silent greeting, another message alert appeared in Tailgate’s periphery. He made a noise to himself in frustration, wanting to just delete the thing and ignore the sender forever, but…curiosity got the best of him.

Glyphs spread out in his vision, and Tailgate read patiently. It took him a while before identifying the words as lyrics. Specifically from a certain popular Cybertronian love ballad, an old song he used to hear a lot before he was appointed to embark on the Ark.

Tailgate cleared his vision and looked up, bright visor fixated on the purple flier at the corner of the bar. Cyclonus’ optics met his, and the warrior smirked.

Oh, how dare he.

The minibot opened a new connection in his commlink, a direct transmission to his roommate, “Cyclonus. If you’re not in our habsuite and uncovered by the time I get back, so help me Primus, I’m gonna break both your horns.”

That took Cyclonus by surprise, red optics flaring a while before they narrowed. He lifted his drink and downed it in one gulp nevertheless, gaze still locked with Tailgate’s, before standing up and moving to leave the bar. The moment he was out, Tailgate received another encrypted message.

[Don’t take too long.]

Tailgate scoffed to himself, turning back to the counter and picking up his drink again. He can take as long as he wanted!

Which didn’t seem to be the case, because about two minutes after that message, another came in containing… raunchy descriptions.

And image files.

No one really knew why Tailgate bolted from the bar that day. He didn’t even finish his drink.


	19. optimus prime/starscream; Angel+Demon AU [NSFW]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP; NSFW.   
> they’re like mechanoid angels and demons idk, and i dont like this one much but i really just wanted to tell optimus to go to hell.

“You can let loose a little, you know,” murmured Starscream, intentionally shifting his weight so that Optimus groaned, “That’s the whole point of this little affair, is it not?”

The warm valve rippled around his spike and Optimus shuddered visibly, before grabbing hold of Starscream’s hips and bucked up a few times, shutting the demon right up. The angel watched Starscream arch his back, hungry optics roving over the sleek frame. His voice was level when he spoke, nevertheless, “It doesn’t mean we are not sinning.”

Starscream scoffed loudly, despite the effect being dampened by a moan, sneering down at Optimus Prime, “When are you going to cut out that goody two shoes attitude? It’s not exactly sexy, you know.”

“Stop lying,” Optimus replied, rolling his hips to grind up into Starscream, a little smirk curving his lips, “You like my goody two shoes attitude.”

The demon’s red tail snapped to and fro in ecstasy, his head thrown back in passion, “K-keep doing that and maybe I’ll—mmh, _ah!”_

Starscream’s claws scored into the plating of Optimus’ chest, making him hiss as he overloaded inside the other, hips jerking roughly up a few times before coming to rest. Starscream slumped down and draped himself over the angel’s chest, sated.

Out of habit, Optimus reached to rub the impressive horns on Starscream’s head, as the demon took to toying with the metal work of the Prime’s wings. A harder rub made Starscream squirm in pleasure, the vibrations of his purring consequently reaching Prime through their contact, and the added fact that Optimus was still inside him.

“One day, you’re going to open your eyes and see how much you belong in hell. With me,” Starscream hummed, tracing glyphs over Optimus’ wings.

The angel laughed at the statement, and lazily rolled his hips, enjoying Starscream’s warmth, “Maybe. Or you could go to heaven with me.”

Starscream lifted his head to look disapprovingly at Optimus, and the Prime kissed him soundly, cutting off any snarky remark the demon might have had. Starscream kissed him back with hunger, but he was certain of which situation was more likely when it came to the both of them.

Optimus Prime definitely wasn’t as pure and kind-hearted as he liked to think he was. If so, they wouldn’t be here together in the first place.

Lust was one of the seven deadly sins, after all.


	20. swerve+tailgate; bartender AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP. some sort of role reversal thing and they’re not on the Lost Light. idk i’m sorry i really like these two together as something casual-ish. but yknow, together.

“And people just don’t like me in general,” Swerve swirled the ice in his glass, surprisingly chipper despite what he’s saying, “They don’t tell that to me straight or nothin’, but it’s obvious. I guess it’s because I talk a lot. And I’m annoying. It’s not their fault, I don’t blame ‘em, but it sure doesn’t make me feel so good either.”

The bartender nodded in empathy, wiping a glass in an almost absent fashion. Swerve was sure the minibot was used to listening to customers whine and complain about their lives on an almost daily basis, so he didn’t feel too guilty bemoaning his life story to the other mech. Plus, he _was_ buying drinks. 

But he chuckled eventually, shaking his head, “Even right now I can’t seem to shut my mouth. I wanna say it’s the way I was forged, but it ain’t really something to be proud of.”

A small white hand reached to pat his own that was resting on the counter of the bar, and Swerve looked up.

The bartender’s visor was a little dim, and he sounded so sincere.

“I know what you mean. Sometimes it’s easier to want to be different than who you really are, because you don’t really like yourself. I’m not in a position to give advice, but really? You’re great the way you are. I personally don’t find you annoying at all. It might not mean much, but I think you’re pretty cool.”

Swerve stared.

The other minibot resumed wiping the glass in his hand, almost shyly looking away from Swerve. Energon rushed to Swerve’s faceplates like a delayed reaction, and he sipped at his drink to hide his blush. He didn’t notice before, but the bartender was _really_ cute.

He spent a while looking at the mech from behind his glass of Hot Rod, before blurting out, “I’m Swerve! Just so…ya know.”

Putting the glass down, the bartender’s visor narrowed and brightened in a smile, “Okay, Swerve. I’m Tailgate. Just so you know, too.”

Swerve hadn’t ever been in love nor did he know what being in love felt like. But at the moment, sitting at the bar counter while smiling at Tailgate in return, it was like he could understand the feeling a little.

Just a little.


	21. starscream/skyfire; Spin The Bottle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP. academy days. quite suggestive at the end. i have never played spin the bottle in my life so yes.
> 
> :commspeak:

:Why did we agree to join this game, again?: Skyfire glanced at Starscream, trying to catch his partner’s optics. The jet didn’t even bother returning the gesture.

:In the spirit of joining in? You’re the one who suggested that I socialize more.:

Skyfire sent slight irritation through their connection, eyes fixed on the spinning cylindrical energon container. It stopped, and a sleek Praxian researcher slinked over to slide into a femme theoretician’s lap. They kissed. Skyfire looked away.

He wasn’t feeling so good.

“Spin it!” called out the party host with good cheer, and it began again.

Skyfire kept glancing at Starscream, who was watching the game with something akin to amused boredom on his faceplates. He definitely didn’t notice where the bottle ended up pointing at after a few rounds

A servo rested on his shoulder and Skyfire looked up, startled.

Riftrider; a fellow scientist from a mutual field; smiled sheepishly at him.

“Hey, Skyfire. Um, I got you.”

“…Pardon?”

“To kiss. I mean. Um, the bottle pointed to you, so…”

Understanding lit up the shuttle’s face and he nodded, smiling in return. Riftrider leaned down and Skyfire tilted his head up. His colleague had always come off as pretty shy before, so it didn’t surprise Skyfire that the kiss was terribly gentle, just a light peck to his lip components.

The shuttle watched her leave with a small smile. How sweet.

Someone urged Skyfire to retrieve the bottle, and he complied, spinning it with a flick of his wrist. He glanced at Starscream, and almost balked at the intensity of the jet’s stare. There was a joyous whoop, distracting Skyfire, and he turned to see a slightly overcharged mech grin widely at him, optics bright with interest.

He made his way to the stranger and opened his mouth to introduce himself, only to have arms wind around his neck in an embrace.

“You are _so_ cute.”

And he was smooched thoroughly, lip components hard and messy on his. He even detected a hint of glossa against his derma.

Skyfire reeled back, the tang of high grade a little too much. It took some effort unwinding the arms entrapping him, but he managed eventually. Returning to his previous seat, the shuttle tried to subtly wipe at his mouth.

The moment his aft hit the chair, his arm was grabbed by a certain Seeker.

“Starscream?”

“Excuse Skyfire and I. Great game, host. Later.”

It was easier to simply go with the motion than to argue with Starscream; especially since the jet didn’t even bother to remember the host’s name; so Skyfire followed, greatly displeased. Starscream pulled Skyfire up the stairs of the apartment they were in, through the throng of mechanisms and didn’t stop for anyone. They reached a berthchamber and Starscream pushed the door open, voice loud and clear and threatening, “Get out of here before I pull your processors out of your exhaust ports.”

Two mechs and a femme skittered out of the room quickly, and Starscream dragged Skyfire inside.

Immediately, he again pushed the shuttle onto the now vacant berth. He proceeded to climb up the mech’s frame like a tree, and Skyfire just had to say something.

“Okay, what brought this on, Star--!”

Starscream kissed him, all aggression and demand, before pulling back with repulsion on his features, “You taste disgusting.”

The jet sat up and shifted forward, practically sitting on Skyfire’s face, “I don’t like it. You’re better off tasting like me.”

Skyfire paused, before grinning. He lifted his hands to grab onto Starscream’s hips, and chuckled at the sound of a panel sliding open.

“I cannot agree more.”


	22. skyfire/starscream; Stuck Someplace Together In Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP; pretty angsty. 
> 
> if it isn't apparent, these guys had ruined me.

It was just  his fragging luck.

As if it wasn’t a bother enough being stuck on this Pitforsaken planet during its stupidly irrational season called ‘winter’, he also had to be trapped with _Skyfire,_ out of all mechs.

Winter brought back terrible memories, flashbacks of panic and desperation, of crying so hard his faceplates felt stiff. It brought back phantom aches in his spark, of longing and loss.

Which was ironic, really, considering the mech he’d been missing millennia ago was the one currently trapped with him. Now, it was just irritating. Being this cold and yet having Skyfire in his field of vision was an odd relief, and he hated it.

It was worse that the shuttle was shivering, plating rattling loudly. It wasn’t _that_ cold. It got to the point where Starscream stood up, words laced with venom, “What in the Pit is your problem?!”

Skyfire jumped at the angry tone, and when he spoke, he sounded…terrified.

“I’m just…This just reminds me too much of the first few hours I had before going into stasis lock. The cold and the…lack of an escape.”

“We’re not lacking an escape, we just need to wait till this fragging storm stops,” Starscream spat out, quelling the sharp sympathy rising in him for his old colleague, “Calm down.”

“I know, but…” the shuttle offlined his optics for a while and reopened them, “Starscream, I know this changes nothing and I promise you it will never happen again, but…Can I please just hold you for now? Only till we get out of here.”

Starscream didn’t say a word.

He just strode over and plopped into Skyfire’s lap like he belonged there, like he always had; and allowed Skyfire’s arms to loop around him under his wings. He tilted his face against Skyfire’s neck and the shuttle let out a shuddering sigh.

There was a moment’s silence before Skyfire whispered, “I thought about you a lot. When I was trapped. You were the most vivid thought on my mind before I went into stasis.”

Starscream’s fingers that were splayed on his chestplates curled inwards painfully, “Don’t push it, Skyfire.”

The shuttle quieted down.

An hour almost passed when he heard a quiet, “I thought about you a lot, too.” He didn’t comment on it.

There was nothing to be discussed between them anymore. Too much had changed.

They sought out comfort from each other in that moment, nevertheless, and everything almost felt the same again.


	23. cyclonus/tailgate; Matching Soulmate Markings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP.   
> slight deviation of canon??  
> hm. they’re also probably pretty out of character. but yknow. ok you probably won’t know but i don’t know either.

Cyclonus couldn’t ever remember a time when he had experienced something like this; the gentle touch of a minibot’s fingers on his plating, a considerably light weight settled on his lap. He had been living for a long time; longer than the average bot; but this was definitely a first.

It was a sensation he could easily get used to.

Tailgate was being oddly soft, white fingertips on him as if tracing some unknown pattern. They were in their shared quarters, and Cyclonus’ optics were a dim, deep red. This was relaxing. In moments like this, he could forget temporarily, and focus on nothing but the quiet and Tailgate’s presence.

His engine was almost rumbling with contentment when he felt fabric placed over his chest plating. Tailgate was rubbing lightly at him with a cloth, visor narrowed with concentration. Cyclonus wanted to be annoyed that his peace was slightly disrupted, but he was amused, instead, “What are you doing, Tailgate?”

The minibot gave one last swipe to Cyclonus’ chestplates, before looking up with a vaguely guilty pulse in his field, “Just…trying to get this off. It’s sort of unsightly.”

Cyclonus raised an optic ridge but glanced down. There were blackened marks on his plating, scorched smudges that spread out in a circle, much like marks from thrusters powered up close. Cyclonus knew perfectly well where they came from.

“I doubt you’d succeed. They don’t just wipe off.”

“I know, but I guessed it wouldn’t hurt to try. You need a new layer of paint.”

The jet scoffed, “Of course. You have the same scorch marks, I don’t see you demanding a paint job.”

Tailgate leaned back slightly, polishing cloth forgotten on the berth. He looked down at his own slightly blackened chestplates and then at Cyclonus, visor brightening with acknowledgment, “Well yeah, but it’s only natural! Ratchet’s welding over where the sword went in me is obvious, too. It’s acceptable for me. Not for you!”

Cyclonus shifted, deliberately making Tailgate flail for a klik, needing to hold on to his frame for stability. The minibot gave him an irritated flash of his visor, but Cyclonus ignored it, lightly resting hands on Tailgate’s hips, “I’d rather not.”

“But Cyclonus…” Tailgate started, despite his almost enticing squirming at Cyclonus’ touch, “You’d look really good with shiny plating.”

“…The moment your welding comes off and you’re rid of your own marks, then I shall follow suit. Agreed?”

The blue visor dimmed as Tailgate thought about it, and he nodded eventually, letting out a deep sigh, as if dealing with someone more difficult than he was, “What’s up with you not wanting to paint over it, anyway? Is it a faith thing? Because I can totally call you out on that.” He reached up to tap lightly at Cyclonus’ new horn.

The warrior simply chuckled, and deliberately dropped his voice to a murmur, “We match.”

Tailgate paused a while, not sure what his roommate met before blue flashed with understanding, and he reeled back slightly from Cyclonus, looking to the side. His voice, when he spoke, sounded utterly flustered, “It’s not fair for you to be cute without warning me.”

“But you do it all the time,” countered the jet smoothly, and Tailgate couldn’t help but laugh, leaning to wrap arms around Cyclonus’ neck. The rough patch on Tailgate’s front scraped Cyclonus’ own, but he purred with pleasure. It was tangible evidence that Tailgate had survived, and proof of what they had been through together to ensure that.

In harsh times, Cyclonus could just look down at the blackened metal of his chest and remember that if he had nothing else, he would always have a part of Tailgate.


	24. ratchet/omega supreme (TFA); Deserted Island

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP. stranded on a space rock.  
> finally. finally. this is my otp for freaking TFA ok please i love them together as literally anything romantic or platonic just. they gotta be together. have you even heard how ratch speaks to omega. i could die. but ok. done gushing. ps, i bullshitted a lot of the terms used here ok so sorry i shoulda done research but laziness

Ratchet patted the metal under his palm, sighing in resignation, “That’s all I could do, old friend. The wound’s  superficial so you’re not in grave danger, but it sure is gonna hurt when you transform. I’ll fix you up proper when we get back to base, but till then, buddy.”

“I don’t feel it at all, docbot,” replied Omega Supreme, lifting his leg from Ratchet’s proximity, “I sent a distress signal the moment we crashed. They should retrieve us in less than a joor.”

The medic did give his companion a look, fairly sure the large mech was bluffing about the pain, but stretched his arms up anyways, groaning, “Sure. Good thinking. Now haul me up, please.”

Omega Supreme sounded amused, “You wouldn’t rather sit outside? The sand is quite a hassle but the view is stunning.”

Ratchet looked up to see Omega already gazing out into the darkness of space, at the colourful winking of gaseous reactions on the surfaces of faraway stars. He scoffed.

“I’d have a hell of a view from the command deck, of course.”

The shipformer simply laughed good-naturedly, and lowered a hand for Ratchet to clamber up on. Bringing his mentor to the entrance of his command deck, a slight tip of his cannon and Ratchet jumped down, patting the gray plating in silent gratitude.

The medic dropped into the pilot’s seat and leaned back, sighing. The sight truly was beautiful.

“Ratchet?” Omega Supreme said a little while later, after a few minutes of Ratchet tapping out an old tune on the metal of the ship’s seat.

“Hm?”

“Would you…establish a neural link to me?”

Ratchet sat up straighter, “What’s up, buddy? Something hurting internally?”

“No, I simply wish to share some time with you. We can watch the stars together.”

That wasn’t energon heating up his face. No, not at all. Ratchet simply was affected by the sudden vastness of space and nothing more. He forced laughter, though, “Aren’t we already watching it together? But fine. Come on. Neural links it is.”

They had done this so many times, but Ratchet found himself getting flustered nevertheless. It wasn’t really his fault. He was a medic and a normal mech, not a teacher as Omega Supreme’s handler should have been. He was prone to getting overly attached. Despite the fact that he only found peace while in Omega’s company nowadays, he knew he shouldn’t let this continue.

But as all normal mechs, he was also selfish.

His arrival into the network of Omega’s domain was greeted by the avatar of the shipformer himself, smile as gentle and kind as always. Ratchet couldn’t help his own lipplates curving. Omega always turned him into a mushy sap.

“I find it easier to speak to you this way. At least here, we are facing each other. And I can minimize my size to suit yours,” said Omega, smile still too kind and he offered Ratchet his cannoned-limb.

“Technically, we’re not _facing_ each other…” Ratchet mumbled, but didn’t press the issue. He placed his hand over Omega’s; which was still humongous compared to his own; and followed the mech deeper into the recesses of the network. Omega sat down eventually, and Ratchet did the same.

Pixels rearranged themselves into a large screen before them, one that dominated the view, and Omega rewired the visual input of his optics. Stars of various colours filled their vision.

They didn’t say anything else, and they sat there waiting, watching the stars. Omega made contact with Ratchet’s hand for the entirety of their connection, and even leaned slightly against his mentor, letting the plating of their shoulders touch.

Ratchet let his fingers curl over Omega’s cannon; an imitation of hand-holding, and neither of them said a word.


	25. blurr/longarm prime; Arranged Marriage AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP. was inspired by Hambone!  
> talk about bonding ceremonies, implications  
> this could have been so fucked up. but it isn’t. not so much. so like. im not sure whether to feel happy or a little frustrated about that ahaa.

His bondmate-to-be was quite attractive, Longarm noted, as the bot fidgeted and stole quick glances at him, pedes shifting in restlessness. The blue of his plating was glowing; the efforts of a recent polishing, most likely; and the sharp lines and sloping curves that made up his frame was pleasing to the optics. Longarm definitely approved.

The mech glanced at Longarm again, and noticed the almost sultry look his companion was giving him. Words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush, almost panicky, “Prime, Sir? I’m sorry but is there something on my plating because you’re looking at me quite intensely not that there’s anything wrong with that but I’d appreciate it if you just said anything you want to say. Just in case.”

Longarm shook his head, curving his lips in a smile, “There’s nothing on your plating, Blurr. I was simply appreciating the fact that we are to be bonded soon.”

“O-oh! Alright,” Blurr nodded, looking down at his pedes before piping back up, sounding somewhat flustered, “I am sorry my creators wanted the ceremony much earlier from our previous arrangements I’m not sure whether they just really want me out of the residence or they’re as excited as I am but I’m sorry if it had disrupted your schedules or any other plans you’ve had. I tried to talk them out of it. It didn’t work.”

The Prime couldn’t help laughing a little. His smile was even more genuine now, and he shook his head once again, “Not at all. I have no other event that is as important as our bonding ceremony.  You needn’t worry.” He gestured to the sofa in his living room, before moving to take a seat himself, “Please sit down, Blurr.”

Blurr followed suit, and Longarm leaned back, watching the mech with amusement, “So, you were saying that you are excited?”

The speedracer jumped slightly, and replied with a sheepish expression, “A little? I mean, I am looking forward to bonding with you, Sir. It’s an honor for you to agree to my creators’ request. Being bonded to someone like you is just, well, amazing.”

Longarm’s servo on the sofa inched closer to Blurr’s own, before he just reached out and covered the smaller digits with his larger ones. Blurr’s optics flicked down when they touched, noting their touching derma. His smile was indescribably sweet when he regarded Longarm once more.

“I look forward to spending my life with you, too. And please,” the Prime murmured, relishing in how Blurr’s optics dimmed at the tone of his voice, “Call me Longarm.”

With an almost subtle twist of his wrist, Blurr’s own fingers curled around Longarm’s, and he squeezed lightly, “Alright, Longarm.”

The two bots spent some time holding hands and simply gazing into each other’s optics, much like lovestruck younglings.

Directly beneath their pedes, about two flights of stairs downwards, was a room full of incredibly creative and perverse devices, commonly used to subjugate a mechanism in the most humiliating, degrading ways. Longarm couldn’t help a slight shiver at the thought of introducing Blurr to his collection.

Not yet, but soon. Very soon.


	26. wasp/ironhide (TFA); Handcuffed Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP. autoboot camp days.  
> this is literally just. a teenage drama. angst and romances and dumb teenage problems. it’s literally that. dumb bots making out and bickering and they’re probably super out of character but. yknow. i wanted them to just be losers and kiss.  
> inspired by [this awesome thing](http://mercurymaplekey.tumblr.com/post/92611123140/i-am-the-captain-of-this-ship) mercurymaplekey drew!

“This is all your fraggin’ fault,” hissed Wasp, purple optics flashing bright in his irritation. Ironhide simply shrugged. That didn’t make Wasp feel better.

He tugged on the cuffs binding them, and made a frustrated noise. This was just great. This was just _stellar._ He turned to Ironhide again, rearing up for an argument, “Did you _need_ to talk about what happened during training? Did you really need to? I don’t get why you can’t just wait till we’re done, or at least when the fragging Sarge isn’t right in front of us!”

Ironhide gave him a glance, before looking away with a sigh.

Wasp bristled.

“What in the everloving Pit is your problem? Look at me!”

The larger mech did, and his tone was tinged with anger, “My problem? I’d mostly wanna know what _your_ problem is, Wasp.”

Purple optics narrowed, “Don’t you blame this on me.”

“You’re fraggin’ _kidding_ me. You better be, because I’m gonna honestly punch you in your stupid facemask if you deny whatever happened last night. You’ve been avoiding it ever since it happened, and you expect me to just drop it?”

Wasp shook his head, “Ironhide—“

“You kissed me _first,_ Wasp. You did. And it’s rude to just ignore me whenever I ask you about it. Sure, we can act like it never happened but at least tell me about you wantin’ to go down that road. You’ve said nothing, and it’s gettin’ really old, pal.”

They glared at each other for a while. It was Wasp who looked away, and he vented harshly, “Fine. Fine. I’m sorry. It’s just… It shouldn’t have happened.”

“There you go. Shoulda told me way earlier,” Ironhide said, before adding afterwards, “Why, though? Was it bad or somethin’?”

Wasp gave him an unamused look, rolling his optics before settling back. There was silence, and Wasp’s optics dropped for a nanoklik from Ironhide’s face to focus on his lip components, before darting away again. “No,” was the grudging reply.

Ironhide was practically radiating smugness, “You’re thinkin’ about it, aren’t you?”

The minibot didn’t answer. Ironhide shifted slightly, the cuffs clanking between them, and dropped his free hand on Wasp’s thigh.

“Don’t get why you’re all dodgy about it. We kissed, so what? Did you do bad in training today? Don’t think so. I did pretty good. Aside from the fact that Sentinel Minor caught me botherin’ you and punished us, I don’t think we’re affected much at all. So why not just…y’know. Indulge.”

Wasp snorted, “Big word for you, mech.”

Ironhide chuckled, reaching for his friend, “I’ll show you a big word.” He scooped Wasp up with ease, dropping the mini unceremoniously into his own lap. Wasp reeled back in surprise, trying to pull away but Ironhide simply tugged at their joined cuffs and Wasp was jerked against the mech’s chest.

He looked up and spat, “You _know_ I hate it when you show off your fragging strength like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Ironhide coaxed, arm sliding around the smaller body, sincerity in his voice, “Consider it retribution for how you hurt me earlier. Okay? I won’t do it again.” He murmured with a grin after, though, “See? Retribution. Big word.”

Despite his annoyance, Wasp had some difficulty fighting off an amused smile. He was pulled closer to Ironhide’s chest, and he found himself shifting for comfort, slotting his frame along Ironhide’s just right. “What are you doing, Ironhide?” he queried nevertheless, despite the almost relaxed tone his vocals had took.

“Since we’re stuck together for the rest of the day, I was thinking…maybe we should put that to good use,” Ironhide dipped his head to press his mouth against Wasp’s facemask, and Wasp couldn’t help but look around, slightly wary. The storage shed he had dragged Ironhide into earlier was of course, empty, and was far away from the cadet quarters. He and Ironhide hung out here a lot, anyway.

Defeated, Wasp retracted his facemask and turned his face to meet Ironhide’s lips, optics flickering at their kiss. The orange mech tilted his head almost immediately after they made contact, trailing small kisses against Wasp’s faceplates. Probably some sort of revenge for Wasp’s earlier denial of ever having kissed Ironhide, but it felt good, so Wasp didn’t mind.

“Your facemask’s not stupid. I like it.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. It’s actually pretty cute.”

Wasp pulled back with disgust on his face, “Cute? It’s not cute. It’s practical.”

“Maybe,” Ironhide grinned, “But it’s cute anyway.”

The minibot growled, surging up to his knees to tweak at the rectangular protrusion of Ironhide’s head, “This stupid helm thing of yours is cute, shut up.”

“Aw, thanks,” snickered the larger mech, and Wasp bared his dentae in a snarl. Ironhide simply caught green wrists, and brought it to his mouth, kissing the smaller hands. Wasp’s snarling died soon enough and he sat back down , looking away, hoping the other mech wouldn’t notice the blush in his cheeks.

Tough luck.

Ironhide didn’t tease him though, opting to instead kiss him again, this time properly. Wasp shuddered in pleasure as Ironhide bit lightly at his lower lip component, glossa darting out to soothe the light dent caused by the gesture. He returned the favour by thoroughly kissing the orange mech, till Ironhide’s fans blasted in the need to expel air.

“Does this mean I can kiss you whenever I want?” Ironhide sounded breathless, despite the seriousness in his tone.

Wasp frowned, “Absolutely not.”

“Can I at least ask to kiss you?”

“You can ask.”

Ironhide raised an optic ridge, “You’re not gonna act like this never happened? Will I ever actually get to kiss you again, after this?”

Wasp went silent for a moment. He thought about the repercussions, the long years of training, and how well he seemed to fit in Ironhide’s lap.

“…Maybe,” he said hesitantly, and Ironhide smiled.

“Good enough for me.”


	27. optimus prime/prowl (TFA); Stripper AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP.   
> an AU where sentinel, optimus and elita are BFFs and shit didn’t happen to them, and prowl just really likes putting on a show. he enjoys it. also detachable armor.  
> this didn’t turn out the way i wanted to due to writer’s block, and is waaay way less sexier than i hoped, but. it’s slightly political.

Black hands moved up to a black and gold chestplate, silver fingers hooking under the bulk of the piece, and Optimus Prime stared. There was an undeniable blush on his features, and he didn’t know what to do with himself. The dancer’s fingers toyed with the edges of his own armor, mask still on.

Optimus found himself leaning to get a closer look, only to reel back when the dancer’s mask retracted, revealing a smirking mouth and sharp faceplates.  Mouth opening and closing, Optimus fought to say something. He ended up with a weak, stuttering, “Hello?”

The mech’s visor flashed before he laughed, the sound low and light. He moved his hands up, four fingers arranged prettily on the plane of his chest, smile softening. His  thumbs flicked, unclasping the catches under his armor, and it detached. Optimus’ optics went wide, unable to look away at the exposed smooth, black protoform, and the silver dips and grooves making up the mech’s spark casing. His spark, a brilliant blue, was steadily pulsing, the light captivating Optimus like nothing else.

“Hello,” the dancer replied, his chestplate hooked on a finger, before he leaned to drop it gently on the floor, “You’ve just become a Prime, haven’t you?”

Optimus was taken by surprise for a moment, before remembering how exactly he had ended up here, in the dark booth in one of the most expensive clubs in the red district. He had become Prime. Sentinel and Elita had scrounged up what few credits they had and treated Optimus to a strip club, demanding the best performance in the name of celebration. Elita was especially enthusiastic in urging him inside the club. He had expected _something,_ but not an insanely attractive, sleek mech with hypnotizing moves baring protoform for him and him alone. It was almost too much.

“Y-yes, that’s right. I’m Optimus. Prime. And you are?”

The dancer’s optic ridges lifted slightly, but he obliged, one hand still enticingly placed beside his spark chamber, “Prowl. At your service, Prime.”

Optimus was trying very hard to focus on the dancer’s face; Prowl’s face, rather than the bright presence of his spark.  He was thinking of something else to say when Prowl’s free hand pressed lightly on his chest, pushing him back with slight force. Optimus followed the motion, too stunned to even think about going against it. Prowl lifted a leg to straddle Optimus’ thighs, his hands leaving to caress his own shoulder guard, smile ever present.

“Must be thrilling, being put in a position of power. I hope you’ll use the privilege well,” another click, and the guard came slowly off, revealing the curved slope of a bare shoulder. Prowl’s visor dimmed, shifting his stance only a little, but the movement sent confused, shocking jolts of electricity up Optimus’ backstrut. 

Optimus wanted to reach for the mech’s hips, hold him steady, but curled his fingers into almost painful fists instead, restraining himself, “I hope so, too. Is there…is there anything you’d like me to look into? I’ve, um, thought about asking the general public about their concerns and maybe…there’s something you’d like to see improve?”

Prowl’s hip rolling stopped, his expression surprised. But he picked up the motion soon enough, reaching to take Optimus’ hands, gently coaxing. Optimus allowed it, and Prowl brought the Prime’s hand to his own chest. Optimus’ vocalizer reset, his fingers spreading to touch black protoform, and avoid making contact with the mech’s spark chamber. This was almost surreal. He’d never done this before.

“There is something….” Prowl said, low but clear, “About the mechanisms working in his district. It’s not contained. Abuse is running rampant, and there’s no control over what clients could or could not do to the workers. Even when there are rules set, no one does anything when clients break them, as long as there’s enough credits involved.”

Despite the distracting heat under his fingertips, Optimus listened to every word, focused. He kept silent for a moment, thinking it over.

Prowl must have taken his silence as something else, as the dancer rolled his hips again, before sitting completely in Optimus’ lap, lifting a leg so the rubber of his tires scraped along the Prime’s own thigh. Optimus made a noise at the sensation, but looked up with understanding in his optics, just as Prowl worked to take off his other shoulder guard.

“I think if we took the businesses in the red district under the government, we’d be able to monitor things? The rules would be enforced and the punishments upon breaking them would be executed by us, and the public would take it more seriously. There needs to be change in the mindset of the people, an understanding that everyone is equal. Then there wouldn’t be any more ill-treatment.”

Prowl had stopped completely this time around, watching the new Prime carefully.

“That sounds a little too hopeful, for some reason.”

Optimus smiled slightly, “They say it’s one of my vices. But with time, I think we might just achieve that.”

The dancer tilted his head. His smile had flattened into an almost stoic look, before it returned, much gentler than his previous smirk, “I don’t believe any other Prime have been quite like you. It might be a good change.”

He dropped the shoulder guard, and lifted himself, abdomen directly in front of Optimus’ face, “I hope you remember our conversation in the future. For now, let me show you my appreciation.” A light sway of his hips and Prowl ran his fingertips along the seams of his pelvic armor. His movements were graceful, almost impossibly so, and Optimus found himself utterly entranced.

Prowl leaned over him, making Optimus lean back to meet the blue visor, catching sight of the optics underneath from his vantage point. Prowl curved his frame to cup Optimus’ head, voice low and purring, “Congratulations, Optimus Prime.”


	28. skyfire/starscream; Office Romance AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP.  
> Decepticon Co. AU, secret affairs, slight nsfw tones, a bucketload of eventual angst.  
> this is like, three parts. sort of. it all happens in less than a year, i know. the seekers totally gossip at the water dispenser. a lot of office scenario cliches, like pagers and meeting footsies and stuff haha ok. oh also they wear clothes! probably quite out of character, im sorry. enjoy!

**May**

“You know that the new intern keeps lookin’ at you, right?” Skywarp whispered, trying to sound conspiratorial despite the loud tone of his voice, “He’s got the googly optics, too.”

Starscream scoffed, rolling his own optics, refilling the cup in his servo with water from the dispenser, “I’m not _that_ dense, Skywarp.”

Leaning against the wall, Thundercracker snickered, “Thing is, ‘Warp, did you notice how Starscream looks at that same guy? Maybe not as googly, but he’s on his way there.”

“Shut up!” hissed the tricolored Seeker, glaring at his colleagues. There was the incredible urge to glance over at the new intern to see if he heard; his name was Skyfire; but Starscream knew he’d be slagged if Thundercracker caught him at it. So he focused on spitting venomous insults under his breath instead, calling both his Seeker friends all the names under Cybertron’s suns. He stood up straighter then, crushing the plastic cup and tossed it into the dustbin, “I’ve got things to copy. Get back to work, aftheads.”

“There he goes,” Skywarp mumbled faintly as Starscream strode away, “Acting like he’s in a position of power. What a nerd.”

Ignoring the comment, the flier made his way to the copier in one of the side rooms of the office. It was full of stationeries and office supplies, and the machine was thankfully unoccupied. Starscream placed the proposals into the slot beside the appliance, and then proceeded to press a sequence of buttons to start the copying.

He heard the other mechanism entering the side room, but didn’t bother to acknowledge the presence of the person. No one was worth his time, not even Megatron.

“Oh hello, Starscream.”

Well, except _this_ particular mech. Starscream turned around, faceplates a perfect mask of nonchalance, “Skyfire. Hello.”

The shuttle’s smile was genuine and lifting as always, a stack of papers in his servos, “May I use the copier after you?”

“Do you even need to ask?” replied Starscream, raising an optic ridge, “It’s office property, you know. You’re free to use it.”

Skyfire’s smile never wavered, “Asking felt right, if that’s a good reason?”

The Seeker scoffed, “It isn’t. It’d be so easy to take advantage of you if you were _that_ nice all the fraggin’ time.”

“Would you?”

Starscream looked away from his papers to give Skyfire a mildly confused look, “Would I what?”

“Take advantage of me.”

“…Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, you’d be too gullible to notice if you don’t start acting a little more aggressive.”

The shuttle made a noise of agreement. Starscream returned to his work and retrieved the heated copies, arranging them in a stack.

“I wouldn’t mind it, though, if you took advantage of me. You, specifically, of course.”

Starscream jolted in surprise, bright optics darting to look at Skyfire in disbelief. Skyfire, on the other hand, had a mellower smile curving his lip components, his optics dim with implications. He glanced down at Starscream’s frame just once, and Starscream was fighting to keep his fans from blasting online.

He grabbed his stack of papers and fled the room, not even daring to reply lest he stuttered. This was embarrassing! Starscream was no stranger to harmless flirtation or even more than suggestive come-ons, and he never actually _fled_ the scene. This was unacceptable. Skyfire was going to pay.

Nobody made the great Starscream blush.

//

**August**

Blue digits pressed over Skyfire’s white shirt, rubbing at his chestplates through the fabric. Skyfire himself had his frame curved over, servos cupping Starscream’s helm as they locked lips, exchanging heated vents in the dark space.

Starscream’s kisses were exceptionally passionate today; with him mouthing at Skyfire’s lip components as if he were trying to devour the shuttle. It could be result from the added stress since he had been promoted to a higher position, but Skyfire wasn’t going to complain. The Seeker moaned low into Skyfire’s mouth, pushing his hips up into where Skyfire’s massive leg made contact with his pelvic array, glossa licking along the soft curve of the shuttle’s lips.

He pulled away soon enough, oral lubricant stringing in between their mouths. The harsh surge of desire in Skyfire’s lines could probably fry his circuits.

“We should celebrate,” Starscream panted, keeping his voice low. The torturous rolling motion of his hips continued, nevertheless, “You accepted Megatron’s offer, and you’re staying. A celebration is in order.”

Skyfire nodded in agreement, “I can think of a good present you could give me, too.”

The grin Starscream flashed him was brilliant in the darkness, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I can picture you in my berth, all wrapped up in a red ribbon, with nothing else on and energon candy all over—“He was interrupted by the sudden jerk of Starscream’s hand upwards, stopping his words. The Seeker let go of his chest, scowling, and used his other hand to reach into the pocket of his slacks. His pager was vibrating; Starscream had put it on silent; and that usually meant something urgent was going on. Skyfire’s thigh was still wedged in between Starscream’s legs, and he couldn’t bring himself to move it away just yet. The warmth was too inviting.

Starscream read the short message on his pager; most likely sent by Soundwave; and made such a frustrated noise it almost prompted Skyfire to kiss him again. But he didn’t, as Starscream looked up at him with almost regret in his features, “Impromptu meeting for the whole office. Right now. We’ve gotta go, Sky.”

“Frag,” blurted Skyfire suddenly, still thinking of how warm Starscream’s panel was, “Okay, alright. I’ll just. Cool down for a bit. You should too, you’re burning.”

“I know,” the jet replied while his colleague moved away, straightening his clothes and what not, “We _are_ going to celebrate, though. Today. I’ll tell you the details later.”

Observing through the slits in the door for a while, Starscream opened it when the coast was confirmed to be clear, exiting the storage room. Skyfire followed suit a while after, and went on his own way.

They arrived at the meeting room with reasonable time distance from each other, and it was luck that gave Skyfire a seat directly across Starscream. He smiled his usual, friendly smile, and Starscream gave a nod of acknowledgement. It was no secret Starscream had a soft spot for the newly hired shuttle, but nobody expected they were having an affair. Starscream wouldn’t allow anyone finding out, as well.

Shockwave, the head of public relations, started speaking and Skyfire listened dutifully, taking account of anything important that the mech had to say. The meeting hadn’t even took place for fifteen minutes when he felt a weight press on his knee, scraping steadily against his lower thigh.

Skyfire looked up, startled. Starscream had his chin in his servos, apparently giving Shockwave full attention, despite how his pede was practically in Skyfire’s lap under the conference table. He did spare the shuttle a quick glance and a smirk, before his faceplates rearranged themselves into something more professional.

The tip of the pede was now tracing circles on the flat plane of his panel through his slacks, and Skyfire was doomed.

In the beginning of their relationship, Starscream had promised Skyfire that he’d take revenge on making him flustered, a feat that Skyfire could have never thought possible, especially with his awkward, fumbling attempts at flirting. It seemed that Starscream took his ideas of vengeance very seriously.

If he survived this, a certain Seeker is definitely getting wrecked by the end of the cycle. That thought, at least, cheered him up.

//

**February**

Skyfire was worrying with some loose paint on the back of his hand. Thoughts were crowding and rushing through his processor, and it was making him anxious. He needed to make this decision. He couldn’t stay.

“What are you even talking about, Skyfire?” queried Starscream; the object of his affections; head tilted to one side, one blue servo over the other in an almost demure display.

He’d only lasted this long because of this Seeker, anyway.

Skyfire sounded exasperated, “You should know what I’m talking about, you’ve just been made Vice President.”

The Seeker’s wings flicked in pleasure at the words, before settling down again, “Of course. But what internal problems are you actually addressing? There’s a lot going on in this company, you know.”

“I’m talking about the fraud, Starscream,” Skyfire said, voice low, yet his frustration was apparent, “About the corruption. About the money laundering. Megatron isn’t running a clean business and I think _everyone_ in the office knows it. It’s illegal.”

Starscream had gone quiet, red optics carefully watching his colleague, “Yes. Everyone knows.”

He smiled then, surprisingly fine with the idea, “But it’s what people do to survive, Skyfire. It’s how you gain profit. And in running a business, nothing else matters if it’s not profit. Your salary had increased by how many percent now? And why do you think that is? Profit. The fraggin’ universe is full of corruption and fraud, Skyfire; it’s just about how good you are at getting away with it. And Pit, we’re _good._ ”

Skyfire stared at the Seeker, at his proud faceplates and his sharp smirk, at the optics he’d stared into countless times while they were tangled in berth. He couldn’t recognize the mech that would call his name in the quiet of the night, needing him close. He didn’t know this mech.

Yet Skyfire smiled slightly in return, reaching to touch Starscream’s cheek, “You know you mean so much to me, right?”

The Seeker purred an agreement, pushing his face against Skyfire’s palm.

“You know I’m in love with you, right?”

Starscream’s optics flashed bright for a second, before he lifted his head and reached up to wrap his arms around Skyfire’s broad shoulders, leaning to kiss him deeply on the mouth. There were unspoken words and emotion in that kiss, but Skyfire’s processor was quite muddled with revelations, he couldn’t think about that just yet.

“I know,” murmured Starscream against his lips, and he kissed the shuttle again, his field radiating utter gratitude.

Skyfire kissed him back, slow and almost languid, and the decision he made was frighteningly clear in his mind.

He was going to leave. And he was never going to come back.


	29. cyclonus+tailgate; Noble|Peasant AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP.  
> medieval AU tribute specially to tumblr user hypetrainofthought for some things we’ve roleplayed for fun before :>  
> more like prince/knight AU but yknow. same. i might have made up a lot of things so….sorry. but here! super short, super lame, and this is from cyc’s POV of course so everything he perceives is w his thoughts and opinions

The weight on his shoulder was heavy, both a burden and a gift, and when it was brought away, Cyclonus felt like he was reborn.

The kingdom’s insignia was still white hot on his chest, the mark of the sovereign. The jetformer lifted his head up to look at his king, his master, his weight focused on a knee and a fist. The king smiled at him, accepting, and bright blue caught Cyclonus’ optics from behind His Majesty.

He daren’t look away from the King, not even His Majesty gestured for him to rise. But rise he did, helm bowed low in his gratitude. It was quite odd, being a mech whose body and soul belonged to a kingdom now, but Cyclonus’ spark sang. Being here felt right. This was what he was brought into the world for.

The blue was still very, very obvious in the periphery of his vision.

Cyclonus took his new place at the side of his fellow knights, his elation quiet and subtle, but his spark was thrumming nevertheless. Recognition and appreciation for him was apparent from everyone in the throne room, and it felt sublime. Then and only then, he glanced at the royalty seated on the dais before them

The Crown Prince Tailgate’s pedes were twitching imperceptibly, as if he was trying hard not to swing his legs in the air yet needing to do so still. His posture was half-excited, half-wary, taking great care to rein himself in as he listened to his creator, the King, address the people in the room. Cyclonus had seen the prince before; brief encounters during his preparation for knighthood, and the little mech seemed to be full of exuberance and cheer.

Cyclonus had acknowledged the fact that he would soon need to be willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of the bright-opticked Prince, and realized that he would do so even without being knighted. There was something about the little prince’s merriment that needed to be protected at all costs. The kingdom could not afford such a loss.

The ceremony did not last for much longer, and soon enough the knights were dismissed from the throne room, leaving after a deep bow to their monarch, orderly and disciplined.

A big smile was threatening to break across Cyclonus’ faceplates in his happiness, but he waited till they weren’t in the company of the nobility, before allowing himself to express himself. He was elated. This was what it felt like to belong.

He was taken _completely_ by surprise nevertheless, when a voice piped up, “Oh! You look different when you smile.”

Turning around, Cyclonus met a bright, blue visor, and it was as if he had never seen something so pure.

“Prince Tailgate,” he bowed, hopefully low enough, “I did not notice you.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” dismissed the smaller mech, flicking his wrist, “I might have snuck out of the throne room. It’s fun and all, but when everyone leaves and it’s just Creator and his advisors…it gets boring.”

Cyclonus did not really know what to say. How did one even continue a conversation with a lively prince who seemed to bounce with every word he uttered?

Again Tailgate surged on the heels of his pedes, rearing up to speak again, “Anyway, I’m looking forward to seeing you around, Sir Cyclonus. You seem very capable and strong. Maybe one day you can teach me how to fight and defend myself. I really do want to learn.”

The jetformer should have not engaged, probably. He should have shaken his head and told the prince that he would follow only the King’s orders and that he would do his best to protect the royal family, that the prince needn’t worry about defense.

What he said instead was, “Perhaps someday. If you do truly desire a lesson regarding sparring, then I am sure we will have the chance to train together, my Lord.”

Just when Cyclonus thought the prince’s visor could not get brighter, Tailgate smiled, blinding and brilliant.


	30. lockdown/prowl (TFA); Vampire AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP.  
> slight deviation of canon, (not really AU, no.)  
> but well um this happens in tfa verse and i felt like trying my hand at lockdown (he’s so hard to write i have to fight to not swoon so) v short! and lame. but here!   
> ps. prowl just likes danger tbh. bad boy muscle cars are appealing.

Brown fingers ran over the sleek, silver plating of Prowl’s side. They curled, a hand curving over Prowl’s waist, and the mech was pulled forward.

Lockdown leaned, his voice tinged sickly sweet in addition to his usual lazy drawl, “Come on, kid. Help me out. There ain’t anyone better at stealth than you.”

It was a pity that Prowl had his visor on, as his optic roll was quite impressive, “Flattery doesn’t work on me, Lockdown. You of all mechs know that.”

Prowl had to look to the side as Lockdown pressed his lip components to Prowl’s jaw, trailing metal up to Prowl’s audials. Lockdown was shameless. He had always been, and he will always be. Prowl could escape his daring touch, but well…Prowl didn’t want to.

“I do know that. But I also know that you love playing with my toys,” hummed Lockdown, his hook reaching down to scrape the gold of Prowl’s thigh, “Oh, do I have the toys for you. A buddy hooked me up with some new mods just last week, and baby, you won’t believe how perfect some of the armour are. Bought ‘em with you specifically in mind, too.”

The cyberninja turned to Lockdown for a moment, before pushing at him with his hands, “How many times have I told you not to do that? I don’t need mods. True strength lies in the frame itself, not with the aid of devices. And they’re mostly temporary fun, too.”

“Not if I play along with you.”

Fingers roved over his aft and Prowl made a face, pushing at Lockdown harder, “You’re despicable.”

“You love me anyways,” The bounty hunter smirked, before catching Prowl’s hand on his front, pulling it away, “Seriously, Prowl. It’ll be great. You and me, hunting.”

Prowl shook his head, but ceased his efforts to escape Lockdown’s hold, “Then you’d sell that mech off to be murdered or worse. I’m not participating.”

Lockdown didn’t reply for a while, before lifting his hook to tap lightly at Prowl’s backstrut, and coaxed, “Remember those jet boosters? From the time we tracked Starscream down? I got somethin’ like those for you. Bigger and faster. Better. I’m sure you miss flying, don’t you, kid?”

That was an interesting offer. It didn’t come free, of course, and Prowl kept silent. But not for long.

“I’m not helping you catch anyone. I’ll just go so you don’t get yourself killed or do anything reckless.”

The smile the bounty hunter flashed was triumphant, nevertheless, “Always the voice of reason. That’s good enough for me, darlin’.” He kissed Prowl’s cheek; more of a bite than a kiss, really; and moved away after one last grope at glossy, black plating, “We move in ten minutes. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Prowl watched Lockdown leave, presumably to choose whatever mods he felt like donning for the hunt. Some part of Prowl felt as if Lockdown knew what was up, that Prowl gave in too easily. Jet boosters really did make a tempting offer, though. The mech sighed, and lifted a hand to comm. his Prime, spinning yet another lie for his extended absence.

Of course he knew Lockdown was bad news. Lockdown was a bad mech, and usually corrupted anyone and everyone who were unlucky enough to capture his attention. He was a vampire, a parasite. But Prowl wasn’t some easily influenced mech either. He could handle himself.

Lockdown was a criminal. Prowl couldn’t get enough of him.


	31. blurr/shockwave; Magic Spell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP.  
> mostly just emotions and manipulation
> 
> okay firstly, MercuryMapleKey and i came up with a harry potter AU for fun, and this is something from that verse.  
> this would seem very vague and out of context bc i wanted it to be so ahaaa but basically. its like an introspection (in my head) of what they’re like in this particular verse.

“Someone’s outside waiting for you. A Gryffindork. All fidgety and scrap.”

Shockwave looked up from his book, and nodded, placing it on the table before him. He made his way out of the Slytherin common room with relative calmness, and it really was Blurr waiting outside the entrance, his servos curling into fists again and again at his sides.

Displeasure was apparent in Shockwave’s tone, “Blurr. How can I help you?”

“I think it would be best if we went to talk somewhere else, I am sure you can think of a few good places for a private conversation,” Blurr’s own tone was accusatory, and Shockwave wondered what brought this on. He nodded though, walking down one of the moving stairs, heading towards one of the unlocked, empty rooms he knew about.

It wasn’t far, and the moment Shockwave closed the door behind him, he transformed. Looming over Blurr’s smaller form, his optic was narrowed in his irritation, “Blurr. I remember vividly reminding you that we were not to interact in public. What could have possessed you to ask my colleagues concerning my whereabouts?”

Blurr was very jumpy, pedes always shifting. He snapped, “If _anyone_ asks, tell them you were summoned to the Transfiguration classroom, I’m usually passing messages to students from professors anyway no one would suspect _anything_. I have something to ask you. I _need_ to ask you now, it is very urgent.”

Something was very odd. Shockwave softened his tone; the mech was clearly agitated, “What is it, Blurr?”

“Did you do something to me?” Blurr’s vocalizer crackled, his voice breaking slightly before it recalibrated, “Did you cast a hex on me? A jinx? Did you make me ingest a potion? Because I have reason to believe you did so and I want confirmation from you, if you ever did anything like that, tell me straight, I _need_ to know.”

Shockwave tilted his helm, while Blurr was thrumming with anxiety. His blue optics were flickering almost feverishly, and his lip components were set in a straight line. He looked quite the picture.

“I haven’t done anything of the sort, Blurr. No spells, no potions. Why are you so troubled, dear?”

“Don’t!” Blurr exclaimed, reeling back visibly, “Don’t call me that! You _must_ have done something to me, I am doing everything against my principles because of _you_ , for you, and it’s _horrible,_ you’ve done something unspeakable to me and I must know _exactly_ what you did. You call me these things and it feels as if my spark’s extinguishing and it must have been a spell, a potion, _something_ , I have never--. I’ve never…” the mech was shaking, trembling, servos still in vicious fists.

Realization dawned on Shockwave. It was fortunate he did not have a mouth given the circumstances, but he would have been smiling if he did.

How delectable.

Taking a slow step, then another, Shockwave approached the Gryffindor, halting right before the blue racer. He lifted a servo, claw lightly poised under Blurr’s chin. Lifting the mech’s head up gently; Blurr followed the motion, optics glassy; Shockwave made sure to send a comforting pulse through his field.

“I have not done anything, Blurr. Everything that had happened, it is all your doing. But that is alright.”

Blurr’s shaking turned violent at the words, coolant pooling in his optics. Shockwave couldn’t help but appreciate what a lovely sight he made, crying and terrified.

“But,” his voice was nothing but a whisper, now, “You made me kill someone.”

Shockwave’s own voice was kind and soft, even tinged with light amusement because really. Blurr knew better.

“I asked you to. You obliged. Your wand. Your spell. But Blurr,” he lightly swiped the trail of coolant making its way down Blurr’s faceplate, and the mech let him, “That’s quite alright.”

After all, denial was a stepping stone to acceptance, was it not?


	32. swerve+tailgate;Superhero AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP.  
> theyre like at a superhero convention or whatever idk they do heroic stuff then meet up about it. for stuff. anyway this is really dumb and nonsensical but i missed swerve/tailgate so so much. so.
> 
> you know what else is dumb? me. im sure there’s some language errors but fhuhghf here take it

Swerve’s laughter was boisterous, loud enough to make a few heads turn. It was his usual demeanour, of course, but there was some other reason of his being loud as well.

He was again, looking for a partner.

“So whaddaya say?” he grinned at the femme in front of him, “It’ll be fun! We can scour your area and my area, and kick some aft twice as fast every night, come on, it’ll be great.”

“I don’t know, Swerve,” the truckformer tilted her head, “Weren’t you the one who talked so much someone’s head exploded?”

He had to reset his optics a few times, before laughing again, albeit a little more nervously, “Oh no, no. What? No, that’s my thing, y’see. I can meddle with the pitch of my vocalizer till circuits blow. It was _intentional._ That guy was a murderer.”

The femme nodded sagely, “Hmmm. Understandable. But about the whole…partner thing…I’m more into flying solo for the moment.”

Something moved beyond the femme’s shoulder and Swerve was momentarily distracted. His visual feed refocused and his mouth dropped open. It took a while of his gobsmacked expression till the femme noticed his sudden surprise.

When he next spoke, his voice was a loud whisper, “Who is _that_?”

She turned around and saw who Swerve was referring to, and faced him again with a smile, “Oh you haven’t heard? New hero in town. Go talk to him. He’s quite the persona.”

“Yeah. Slag, yeah okay. I’ll talk to him. He’s so cute,” Swerve mumbled before resetting his vocalizer and shrugged with exaggeration, “I mean. Yeah. Okay, he’s cute, I’m gonna go talk to him.”

“Maybe you can ask him to be your partner?”

His visor flashed momentarily at the suggestion and he laughed, grinning wide, “Primus, maybe I should. Maybe I should ask him if I can spend my life with him and move in, why not, Primus! You’re funny. I like you. Catch you around though, we should totally talk again.”

He made his way to the newcomer nevertheless, grin still in place. The white minibot was laughing at something someone was saying; Getaway, or whatever that famous escapist’s name was; and Swerve made sure to wave enthusiastically so they would notice his presence. Let it never be said Swerve didn’t know how to start a conversation.

The other minibot did notice, and waved back, just this little movement of his hand and Swerve really had to just keep grinning.

“Hi! I’ve never seen you around before. Who are ya, mech?”

“I’m Tailgate. I’m new to this scene, actually. And you are?”

“Swerve. You can call me Swerve. Heya Getaway, pardon if I was interruptin’ anything. I just got so curious.”

Getaway; that really was his name; was looking at the two minibots with something much like amusement in his optics and he waved a hand in dismissal, “It’s no problem, Swerve. In fact, I’ll leave the two of you to get acquainted, okay? I’ve gotta meet Riptide about something, anyway. Was a pleasure speaking to you, scout.”

Tailgate’s visor brightened in acknowledgement and he nodded, “You too, Getaway!” The larger mech left then, and he faced Swerve once again, interest open in his field, “So, Swerve.  Where do you usually patrol?”

“Beta District is usually my turf. Not much of a filthy place but the mechs could get up to some weird scrap. Digging up operations is my thing. You got a thing, Tailgate?”

“You can say I’m a jack of many trades,” Tailgate hummed, his arms crossing, “I dabble in a lot of stuff. Usually street crime. I stopped a mugging the other day with just my thumb. I can’t really believe it happened too, but it did, and it felt awesome. So I decided that maybe I should get together with everyone who did the same thing, you know?”

Swerve nodded in agreement, “Good idea, good idea. We meet up every month or so. Talk about crime rates, problematic areas, the works. Sometimes we partner up too. Speaking of which…” Here goes nothing, “Do you wanna partner up? I mean I get it if someone already asked you, or if you’re not interested yet, but just the offer’s out there, yeah? Just so you can think about it.”

Tailgate paused a while, and Swerve rubbed the back of his helm. It wasn’t like he just asked Tailgate _out_ or anything, it was purely business. Swerve would take whoever he could get as a partner, that was what this was about. Of course.

A ripple of camaraderie went through Tailgate’s field, lightly brushing against Swerve.

“Okay, I’ll think about it. But I think a partnership would need a lot of trust and familiarity. Maybe we should get to know each other better first. What do you say?”

It didn’t even take five astroseconds for Swerve to pipe up, “Yes! Yes, please.”

Tailgate’s amused fondness in reply made Swerve giddy. Best hero meet up ever.


	33. swindle/megatron (TFA); Online Relationship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP.  
> god im so sorry for the username. but bc recent tf name generators and bc it’s funny, i had to. i can’t take myself seriously anymore. enjoy, anyway, this is super short.

Rubbing lightly at the remnants of polish on the plating of his arm, Swindle tossed the polishing cloth somewhere, sitting up straighter in his chair. He was pretty shiny, but it was fine. He considered the wax and polish an investment.

He reached for his computer, clicking the little ‘call’ icon next to a certain username, ‘PowerDaddyCon’. It was ridiculous, but for the sake of concealment over Earth’s world wide web, necessary.

The light of his webcam blinked on, a blazing red, and Swindle smiled.

A dark figure materialized on his screen, before the lens adapted to the lighting and colors, and Megatron’s features sharpened, smirkng at Swindle in return. He had a cube of energon in his hand, and Swindle couldn’t help sitting back, sure that the light from his command room shone across his glossy plating, “Megatron. It’s been a while.”

“Indeed,” the warlord hummed in return, subtly appraising Swindle’s frame, “It certainly has. You seem to be in good health, as always.”

“Quite. I would say the same for you, but Earth isn’t exactly a luxury planet where a mech can chill back and relax. I do hope you are at least faring well.”

Megatron made a noise of agreement, “Your concern touches me, Swindle. Now, I believe you mentioned something about acquiring a powerful weapon for me?”

Swindle’s optics dimmed, and his smile widened, “Oh, yes. But I don’t think it wise to tell you just what it is yet. It’s not going to be easy finding the parts and assembling it, but trust me, once you’ve got your hands on it, you might as well have won the war.”

The warlord’s own expression brightened in the dark lighting on Swindle’s screen, and he took a sip of his energon. He moved his wrist slowly, swirling the liquid afterwards, “Tempting. Very tempting.”

“I only ask for you to be patient,” Swindle continued, before his voice took a decidedly different tone, “Besides. I would need to come to Earth to deliver it to you. Unlike our previous transactions, of course.”

Megatron’s smirk turned predatory, “Really, now?”

Anticipation was a slow crawl of electricity up Swindle’s backstrut, “Yes. Maybe this time, I would finally get to meet the Decepticon leader face to face?”

Low laughter rumbled from the other side of the connection and Megatron murmured, his gaze sultrier than ever before, “Oh, I do hope so, Swindle. I do hope we meet.”


	34. optimus prime/starscream; Mythical Creature|Human AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP. mermaid AU
> 
> homage to ['A Tale On Stormy Waters' by gaySlipstream](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1745732/chapters/3728411) i flipping adore like its been on hold for a while but i think i will always remember it bc i love it so.
> 
> for the sake of context though, you should read the fic (i highly recommend it)  
> i honestly just messed around here, i'm sorry!

Things were most peculiar, lately.

Starscream had no definite way of knowing if they were getting closer to land or not, his days restricted solely to the huge tub in the Prime’s quarters. It wasn’t so bad; some days he’d just close his eyes and focus on the sound of the water rushing over him, or the ocean waves colliding against the ship’s hull; he could easily overcome the slight episodes of claustrophobia that built up in his throat.

As much as he hated to admit it, it was the easiest to not get panicked when some groundpounder engaged him in a conversation. At least he could focus on emotions like rage and disgust rather than his own insecurities.

Prowl was by far, his favourite groundpounder to date. Quiet, unassuming and polite as the Pit. He never probed in too deep, nor was he unnecessarily condescending. If he wasn’t part of the crew that had kept Starscream captive, the mer was sure they’d be fast friends.

Starscream still didn’t know what to think of Optimus Prime. He definitely didn’t trust Optimus Prime, despite that irritating, sad look in the mech’s optics, and he sure as frag wouldn’t ever bring himself to trust a groundpounder who ultimately decided what would become of him.

It was almost a shame, considering Optimus Prime’s demeanor and over all physicality.

His tail flicked to and fro with his thoughts, and Starscream glanced behind him in disapproval. True enough, he was young and in his prime, but to have such thoughts regarding a land dweller? Shameful.

But hadn’t that been his initial assumption when the Prime moved him to the captain’s quarters? He had been ready for violation, thinking of ways to hurt the Prime severely and permanently, if possible, only to have his helm petted and to be coaxed with gentle words.

He hadn’t agreed to help them; of course he wouldn’t; but the Prime hadn’t outright threatened him at his defiance. He mostly just sighed and attempted reason. It was very peculiar.

But considering the stories Starscream had heard, what groundpounder in his right mind wouldn’t want to frag a mer? It was the closest they could get to actual divinity. It was not Starscream’s intention to have relations with anyone who isn’t a mer but…he had been captive for quite some time; the loneliness was getting to him; and Optimus Prime didn’t look half bad.

The ship’s captain happened to enter his quarters right at that moment, interrupting Starscream from his line of thought. Almost awkwardly so, the Prime smiled at Starscream in greeting before moving to his berth, heavily sitting on it. He removed the protective armor of his pedes; they seemed to have been aching as he massaged his feet slowly; and Starscream decided to speak up.

“Optimus?”

The mech looked at him, optical ridges raised, “Yes, Starscream?”

“Don’t you want to frag me?”

Optimus Prime was out of that room so fast, Starscream never even saw him leave.


	35. skywarp/thundercracker/starscream (G1); Mistletoe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP.  
>  kissing. a lot of kissing. implied sexual relations.  
> i just. i just wanted to write seekers making out and it got away from me so so fast. but here. i think the grammar and plot got wonky after a while so apologies for that, anyway, here’s the elite trine

It was a happy day for the Decepticons. The last battle had proven to be their victory; they managed to haul off quite a load of energon; and a celebration was in order.

For Starscream, it meant finally affording to leave the command room and hopefully do nothing but laze around in his quarters without any interruption whatsoever. Total relaxation. He wouldn’t have to think about anything for a few megacycles, not even about thwarting Megatron out of his throne. Not yet, at least.

He reached the Elite Trine’s shared quarters and vented out in relief. He could see his berth from the open door, and it would just take a few more steps…

Someone grabbed his arm before he could actually enter the room, and he almost swung up his other hand in anger, fully intending to smack his captor in the faceplates. But it wouldn’t do for a Decepticon to end up in the medbay after so soon a victory, much less if he did due to Megatron’s consequent wrath.

It was Skywarp, naturally. Grinning wide, his optics bright, the Seeker sounded almost smug, “Starscream. Look up.”

The Air Commander glared at him impressively, before obliging with wariness. The trick to shaking Skywarp off was to sometimes just do what he wanted. Or slag him hard enough he passes out, according to the situation.

Starscream looked up, and there was some organic material dangling from the arch of their chamber’s door, stuck to the metal with some crude tape. Starscream made a face, “Ew, what is that.”

“It’s mistletoe. I think I’m pronouncing it right. Well, whatever, c’mere,” Skywarp mumbled before surging forward, faceplates moving in suddenly close to Starscream’s. The tri-colored Seeker lifted his free hand and shoved it right into Skywarp’s face.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

The purple Seeker made unintelligible, offended noises before pulling Starscream’s hand away from him, “I’m tryin’ to kiss you, afthole. Wasn’t that obvious?”

It was, and Skywarp did get tactile and seek for attention at times, but rarely out of the blue, “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Ugh, ‘course it doesn’t. You really gotta catch up on Earth customs, Screamer,” Skywarp mused, lip components quirking up, “When two mechanisms are under mistletoe, they kiss. Or two organisms. Two whatever. Point is, we’re under that thing right now, so we gotta kiss!”

Starscream’s faceplates contorted in disgust, “We’re Cybertronian, ‘Warp, that doesn’t fragging apply to us.”

“Well yeah, but it’s fun! In the spirit of Christmastime, or something. I mean, we’re here on Earth already, stuck for Primus knows how long, why not just have fun with the little things? Yeah? Come on, Star, pucker up.”

He could easily just pull a fast one and hit Skywarp in the abdominal plates, but Starscream didn’t. They had just won, and he was feeling mellow despite his irritation, so he supposed he could make amends. Skywarp’s kiss was surprisingly gentle, and Starscream’s optics shuttered for a second before they parted, and his trinemate grinned like an idiot.

Starscream scoffed, “You’re incorrigible.”

“And yet you love me anyways,” replied Skywarp cheekily, before moving away from the door, “Remember Starscream. Mistletoe. Mii-stle-toeee.” He pointed upwards while gradually dropping his voice to a whisper, and warped out of sight soon after.

Starscream merely rolled his eyes.

//

It seemed that somehow, Skywarp had coaxed Thundercracker into going with the odd human custom. Starscream had exited their quarters for a moment at the comm. of Ramjet concerning their patrol shifts, and happened to re-enter the room at the same time as Thundercracker. He had forgotten about the mistletoe above them, when Thundercracker slid an arm around his waist, pulling him close.

Confusion turned into surprised pleasure as the blue Seeker kissed him deeply, till Starscream’s engine revved with deep-seated desire. He conveniently forgot to be displeased when Thundercracker finally broke the kiss, his trinemate’s optics were dim as TC glanced up as a hint.

“Mistletoe,” he rumbled, before leaving Starscream to retrieve something from their shared quarters.

It happened a few more times that day.

Skywarp probably had some sort of tracking device on Starscream, considering the way he kept showing up whenever Starscream entered or exited their room. Their kisses were either very brief, teasing pecks, or with Skywarp’s playful tongue slipping inside Starscream’s mouth. There were a few more instances with Thundercracker as well, and the larger blue Seeker had taken to pushing Starscream against one side of the door to kiss him senseless, one hand heavy on Starscream’s hip. The rumble of his engine felt divine as it reverberated through Starscream’s own plating, and the Air Commander found himself looking forward to walking under the damned organic slag.

He caught Skywarp and Thundercracker a few times too, generally making out every time they passed each other on their way out or into their room. Starscream had never thought of himself as a voyeur, but there was something arousing in watching his trinemates kiss. But of course.

It wasn’t till he could finally rest and hopefully recharge; lying on berth languidly, simply taking his time shutting off his systems; that Skywarp and Thundercracker met under the mistletoe again. Thundercracker ran a finger deliberately under Skywarp’s left wing as the purple Seeker leaned to catch his mouth. They kissed, and didn’t stop kissing for a while. Skywarp’s arms lifted to wind around Thundercracker’s neck and there was a muffled moan somewhere in between their lips, and Starscream’s systems booted right up again.

He watched, charge rising steadily under his plating. If they kept at it, he wasn’t sure if he could…

Skywarp leaned back slightly, optics onlining only to give Starscream a sultry smirk from the door, his invitation loud and clear. Thundercracker moved his head to scrape dentae along Skywarp’s jaw, and he too glanced at Starscream, appraising the Air Commander’s supine form on their berth, gaze full of intent.

Starscream decided recharge could wait.

He made his way to the door, to his entwined trinemates, and they parted momentarily at his presence. Thundercracker glanced meaningfully upwards, and then at Starscream, “Oh look. We’re all under the mistletoe.”

“Fancy that,” Skywarp snickered, before leaning over to kiss the side of Starscream’s lip components, his hand sliding along the smooth plating of his leader’s hips. Thundercracker tilted his own head to bite lightly at the dark curves of Starscream’s helm. Starscream lost himself.

He caught Skywarp’s mouth, hungrily kissing the Seeker, his engine revving loud enough in declaration of his desire. Skywarp whimpered into his mouth and he swallowed the noise, breaking the kiss sloppily before turning to Thundercracker. He pressed his frame against the blue Seeker’s, rumbling loud and hard, enough to feel TC’s deep groan against his lip components.

The whole situation was reduced quickly into hot, heavy touches and desperate noises, mouths smearing over plating, hands grabbing at each other. Starscream jerked his face from Thundercracker’s unforgiving grip, biting back a keen at Skywarp’s glossa on his neck cables, “Okay! Okay, okay frag. Can we frag already, I’m going to bust a circuit.”

“Slag yeah, come on, come on,” vented Skywarp, pushing lightly at his trinemates and they fell onto the berth, hands still roving over one another.

Starscream huffed, hips rolling up in want despite his aggravated tone, “You _planned_ this, didn’t you ‘Warp?”

Skywarp grinned, leaning to run his glossa hotly over Starscream’s cockpit glass, exchanging a look with Thundercracker. He licked his lip components, and said innocently, “Does it really matter?”

It didn’t.


	36. blurr/longarm prime|shockwave; High School AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP. webcams, suggestive themes  
> based on [Hambone's Textbook Felony ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1979883)verse!
> 
> truly i laughed when i read this prompt bc what were the chances?? (pretty huge actually). this doesnt run w ham's canon ofc and i just shoved somebot's name in there for plot's sake but yknow. here.

His finger hovered over the curve of the mouse, his whole frame gone still at the sudden gravity of what he was about to do.

It was just a video call, something seemingly normal and trivial. But nothing was normal about Blurr and Doctor Longarm. The white icon on his screen; shaped like a video camera; remained where it was, as if patiently waiting for Blurr to make a decision.

He had never done this before. At the same time, he missed his teacher so badly it hurt, a resonating ache in his spark, a loss. In a burst of clarity from the thought, his finger dropped down and the white icon turned red.

His speakers let out two steady beeps, and Blurr leaned back on his chair, trying to bury himself in the confines of his sweater. There was no turning back now.

It took three sets of the beeping; six in total; for Doctor Longarm to pick up. He appeared on the screen, grainy flecks of grey and green and bright, bright red eventually focusing to take the form of the professor.

Blurr’s spark swirled violently, and he forgot all about his previous anxiety, “Doctor,” he breathed out, leaning closer to the screen, “Hi.”

Longarm’s smile made him giddy, “Hello Blurr. I must say I am not quite used to communicating like this, but the quality of your projection is adequate enough for me to see you clearly. I’m pleased.”

“Oh don’t worry sir, it’s not just you I’ve never conversed with anyone through web cameras myself, and I agree about the video quality, you look good. I mean you _always_ look good, but even on video. Yes,” Blurr rebooted his vocalizer, shifting in his seat. He was a terrible teenager, with jacked up desires and immature thought patterns, and Doctor Longarm has been gone for less than a week and already he was getting horny at the mere sight of his teacher. He was a disgrace, but hopefully Doctor Longarm wouldn’t sense his discomfort.

“How is your conference, sir, I hope you are having a lot of fun and it’s a good experience overall, we’ve missed you a lot! Sir Cyclonus is a good teacher but of course you are the best there is, it’d be really nice to have you back in class, sir, I know you’ll be back on Monday but I really, I _really_ miss you. I miss…” his words died down at the smile curving his teacher’s lip components, the sight heating up his plating, warmth suffusing his field.

He wasn’t going to be a brat, but he wanted Longarm in close proximity so badly.

The professor’s voice was velvety when he next spoke, and despite their obvious distance, Blurr felt that the atmosphere had turned very intimate.

“I have missed you too, dear. I will be back soon. And when I am, I promise it will feel as if we have never been apart.”

Blurr smiled shyly, squirming just a little at Longarm’s tone. But he was happy, the reassurances making his spark feel lighter, “If you say so, Professor.”

“Now Blurr,” Longarm continued, “You mentioned how badly you missed my company?”

The younger mech nodded after slight hesitation; he really did miss Longarm. His teacher’s smile turned positively wicked.

“Would you care to show me?”

It took Blurr a while to understand, before he laughed, light giggling shaking his frame before he pushed the chair he was sitting on a little farther from his monitor. He reached up to fiddle with the camera attached to his computer, angling it just so his whole frame could be seen by Longarm. Then he spread his legs, fingers trailing over the fabric of his shorts, the exposed plating of his thighs.

His panel clicked open.

“I would love to, Sir.”


	37. wasp/ironhide (TFA); High School AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP.  
> generic high school AU  
> this is ridiculous. but mechs being sick, motherhenning, some form of invasion of privacy tbh but well. the language might be a little wonky bc i was sleepy and the whole concept is weird and ridic but yeah! here.

There was something wrong with his processor, Wasp realized. Not something fatal, or terribly harsh, just a string of bad code that he would hopefully get over in a couple of days. A virus. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but unnatural heat was coming off in waves from his frame, and his thoughts were sluggish.

But it was Friday. He had to go for classes. He’d have the weekend to rest and recuperate and what not, but for the day, he needed to go to class. There was no way he could afford skipping school altogether, considering the dent it’d put in his record of perfect attendance, and the fact that he might be missing homework.

He had almost gotten through the day, despite the dull ache behind his optics and how his ventilations came out shaky and pained most of the time, silently, when he bumped into Ironhide. Now, he didn’t consider Ironhide and him to be close friends. They were _friends_ , but more like acquaintances, since Wasp had put distance between them after the initial plan of schmoozing up to a senior student. Ironhide made him feel weird.

But they had a thing going, in terms of social interaction. Whenever they ran into each other, Ironhide would wave with enthusiasm and Wasp would return in kind, probably using less effort, but he’d always smile. As it happened to be, on the way to Math, Ironhide came his way and waved as usual (Wasp should have known, really, their schedules collide three days every week and he hadn’t exactly memorized the patterns of their impromptu meetings, but he does remember).

Wasp would have waved back, and smiled, but his processor felt like it was splitting apart and his optics had an unnatural flicker in them that didn’t let him focus on a sight for too long a time due to the episodic fritzing his visual input had seem to take.

It wasn’t till he had walked past his colleague that Ironhide called out, puzzled, “Wasp?”

Wasp froze in his steps, turning around, not quite sure where Ironhide was, “’Hide? Ironhide. Hey.”

“You okay there?”

“I’m fine. I have to—I gotta go. Math. See you,” he didn’t exactly scurry off, but he did walk a lot faster, convinced that he didn’t want to speak to Ironhide at the moment. He was already so unsettled; he didn’t need unnecessary extra heat. Ironhide might have called him back, but it was easy to pretend that he heard nothing.

Things didn’t get better in class. His vision was swimming and as much as he tried to write down equations and formulas, the numbers came out deformed and shaky. He was trying his best, though, and he knew he could revise things later, but he was getting overwhelmed by disorientation. He got through the class without any trouble nevertheless, aside from internal problems, being assigned a few questions for the weekend’s homework.

But the moment he stepped out of class, he saw an orange blob very much resembling Ironhide. The blur was leaning against the wall beside the door of his classroom, seemingly waiting for something. Wasp knew he couldn’t be lucky a second time.

Looking up at the crowd of students exiting the classroom, Ironhide spotted Wasp, and immediately made his way to the mini.

It was too late to turn away, and it felt as if the delicate mechanisms in his frame were melting slowly anyway, so Wasp stayed where he was.

Ironhide’s servo on his shoulder felt warm, despite how heated his plating was, “You are definitely not okay. Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Wasp asked, realizing how thick his glossa felt in his mouth, his words not coming out quite right.

“Home. Your place. I ain’t letting you walk in this condition, what if you fall into a ditch somewhere?” The warmth on his shoulder slid to his hand, and Wasp found himself being tugged gently, urged to move. He followed, but disapproval was apparent in his hoarse tone.

“So what? You’re going to walk with me?”

“Nah,” Ironhide chuckled; his stupid laugh, “I’ve got a bike, remember? And it’s your lucky day too, I brought two helmets today.”

Wasp made a face, but his attempted scowl dissipated into a small smile. He had always wanted to ride on Ironhide’s motorcycle, but had never agreed to Ironhide’s numerous offers. There hadn’t been a solid reason to accept, before. He stopped smiling soon enough, readjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder.

The school’s parking space wasn’t far off but he did admittedly stumble a little, misjudging his steps due to the heady, painful pounding in his head. If Ironhide noticed his wooziness, the mech said nothing.  They reached Ironhide’s motorcycle; something surprisingly not showy and simple, Wasp though; and his colleague handed him a helmet.

“Frag,” Ironhide mumbled once Wasp clasped the contraption under his chin, “How are ya going to hold on to me?”

The mini opened his mouth to protest but his optics shuttered. His circuits were disintegrating. Ironhide paused, thinking the situation over before nodding to himself, “Okay. You’re sittin’ up front. Alright? Don’t fall off to the side of something.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” mumbled Wasp, and reached for the leather seat, hoisting himself up. This was an experience, and he knew he probably should react more than how he was currently, but he just wanted to go home. He leaned forward, fists gripping onto the bike’s handles as Ironhide mounted the vehicle behind him.

Orange arms wrapped around him, tight, and the motorcycle eventually rumbled to life after a loud rev. He wasn’t fully aware of the ride home, aside from the wind against his face and through his vents, the stable frame behind him as he leaned back, and the light pressure of a helm resting over his own. It did nothing to alleviate his headache, but it sure felt comforting.

Ironhide had been to his place before, a long time ago, when they had just been introduced to each other. Wasp was proud enough that he managed to get a whole apartment for himself (he pulled some strings, of course, it was worth it), and Ironhide had marvelled over the living space much like everyone else, but came up with less suggestions concerning parties and such. Wasp was surprised Ironhide even remembered where it was, but Ironhide lightly pushed him towards the door, reminding Wasp about the house keys.

He was mildly worried about the state his home was in, but Ironhide’s servos were light pressure against his back and they were in the living room; he toed off his sneakers absently out of habit; they passed the bathroom, then entered his own room. He wasn’t exactly laid down on his bed but it did feel as if he was lifted for a moment, then there was nothing but soft sheets under his frame.

There were words to be said, things to be addressed, gratitude to be expressed, probably, but Wasp’s systems were shutting down one by one in preparation to fight off the virus in recharge. His vision blacked out first but there were digits on his face, petting lightly.

“Don’t worry,” he heard, before shutting down completely, “I’ll take care of you.”

//

Recharge took him deep, memory fluxes and distortions making him restless at a point, but there was a light weight over his helm after the initial disturbance and Wasp slept soundly afterwards.

He woke up to the same weight on his forehead, his processor still hazy but in considerably less pain than before, and he was swathed in blankets. He basked in the security for a bit, feeling at ease. There was something off, though, and he needed to investigate. Slowly untangling himself from the makeshift cocoon, Wasp eventually freed an arm to touch his forehead.

The thing on his forehead was a wet cloth, turned warm from how high his temperature had been the night before. Wasp got out of bed, pausing a while as he waited for his gyros to settle, and stood up.

Something smelled divine.

In a post-recharge daze, Wasp exited his room, quite curious as to where the smell was coming from. There was something he should have remembered from the events that occurred yesterday, but somehow he just couldn’t place…

Ironhide was in the kitchen, one hand furiously whisking some eggs in a bowl cradled in his other arm, tongue peeking out from the corner of his lips in concentration. It was too surreal. Wasp stopped moving altogether.

The orange mech noticed Wasp eventually, not after a while of enthusiastic egg whipping, and grinned, optics flashing, “G’morning! How are ya feeling, Wasp?”

“Better,” Wasp replied, coming back to his senses, “Much, much better. I think.”

This was surreal, but it was happening, and Wasp wasn’t about to lose his cool.

“Good! If things get worse then I’m hauling you to a clinic. Alright? I stole some of your pillows last night, sorry about that,” he pointed sheepishly, and Wasp glanced over to see some pillows scattered on his couch. That made sense. It was sudden and awkward, but it made sense. Ironhide continued, “Now I made you some stuff to eat but don’t complain if it ain’t good. I’m _sure_ the pancakes are good though, that’s literally the only thing I’m good at making. But eat up so you’ll get better fast.”

The situation was too domestic for Wasp to handle, but he wasn’t fully awake just yet, and he had things to say.

“Hey, Ironhide?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for yesterday.”

Ironhide’s grin was as bright as ever, his laughter inherently goofy, “No problem, mech.”

It was indubitably the remnants of the bad code in Wasp’s processor, the residue of his sickness, but Wasp wanted to wake up to Ironhide making breakfast for the rest of his life.


	38. chromedome+rewind; Elevator Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP.  
> first meeting, AU-ish  
> i consider this an AU bc chromedome met rewind in canon after dominus went missing. nothing much aside from conversations and implications and not much cdrw, tbh. also i personally doubt rewind’s a romantic, but things just happened

“Wait!” called a voice from outside, and Chromedome pressed the ‘open’ button of the lift, craning his neck to see who had yelled. The doors weren’t even fully opened yet, but a minibot slinked in through the small gap, entering the elevator, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Chromedome replied, and closed the door again. It was just the two of them; no one seemed to be running to catch the elevator this time.  He pressed a button for the floor he desired. Fleetingly he thought of asking the minibot where he wanted to go, too.

The minibot simply moved closer, politely said “Excuse me,” and reached for the railing at the sides of the lift. He lifted himself up easily, a show of some sort of acrobatics before pressing a floor that was lower than Chromedome’s, but still pretty high up.

Then they settled into either side of the lift, and there was nothing but silence. But Chromedome couldn’t help glancing over at his company. Something was off and he couldn’t really point it out.

It was fairly obvious, his glances, and it was inevitable that the minibot looked over at him, too. His visor flashed in friendliness, and Chromedome smiled in return, his own visor glowing dimly. Then he noticed it. The blinking red light embedded in the minibot’s helm.

“Are you recording me?”

The amiable shine to the minibot’s optical band dissipated right away, and he scoffed, folding his arms, “I record everything. I’m an archivist.”

“Oh,” Chromedome said, suddenly feeling ignorant, “Sorry. But everything? Even boring elevator rides?”

The minibot shifted on his feet, hips cocked to a side. There was amusement in his voice, “Well yeah. But something interesting could happen once the elevator doors open. I don’t wanna miss even one second of a potential historical event, or whatever else that I’d want to keep with me forever.”

Chromedome made his own amused sound, “That sounds very sentimental.”

“Everyone needs a little sentimentality in their life. Life without romanticism, now _that’s_ boring.”

There was a ping, and the elevator doors parted. The minibot looked out and saw something that made him happy, his field suddenly flaring out with excitement. He did take the time to wave Chromedome goodbye, field still wild with his joy, and half-ran out of the elevator.

“Dominus!” Chromedome heard, and he saw the minibot rush to a larger mech, someone that seemed familiar, but Chromedome couldn’t recall who he was at the moment. The green mech that had been waiting outside took the minibot’s hands into his own, and the elevator doors closed.

The lift started moving again, and Chromedome’s field was tingling where the minibot’s energy brushed against it earlier. An interesting conversation for the day.

There was still the insistent pinging in his HUD; Prowl being as impatient as always.

Romanticism. Maybe he should tell Prowl all about his little encounter. Maybe he’d find out the minibot’s name.


	39. cyclonus/tailgate; Body Swap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP.  
> post cybercrosis, established relationship  
> i think this prompt had been done to death with these two but its cute!!! and i cannot help myself. some reference to this fic i couldnt remember (im sorry but it was about cyclonus hurting a lot) and i’m pretty sure ‘uncycling’ isnt a word but. aha.

This was ridiculous.

It had been difficult to sound menacing while he was in a minibot’s frame, but Cyclonus had made sure that Perceptor would take no rest before he found a way to reverse what had been done to him. The scientist had assured then that it would be fairly simple, though time-consuming, due to the recharging nature of the device. It didn’t matter. As long as they weren’t permanently stuck in each other’s frames.

Speaking of which...

Tailgate, currently inhabiting Cyclonus' frame, was making pitiful noises. It was unsightly, ugly even,  coming from the warrior’s rough vocalizer. Cyclonus tolerated it to a point, considering they were in private, but even he had his limits.

"Hush, you sound pathetic."

The former minibot sniffled, fingers placed over his lips, "B-but...this is so overwhelming. Everything feels weird. Everything aches. Is this what you feel like every day? My face feels so hollow. I want you to hold me, Cyclonus."

Cyclonus meant to reprimand his partner for his incessant whining, but thought twice of it. Needing comfort was never too much.

"I don’t believe you would fit in my arms now, Tailgate."

Another sad moan, before Tailgate leaned forward, red optics wide and vulnerable, “Maybe I can hold you instead?  Just touch me.”

It took him some hesitation, but Cyclonus complied. Reaching for his roommate, he pulled his new, lighter frame into Tailgate’s lap (once his), and the disposal mech almost chirped in gratitude. Apparently with new lip components and a more flexible vocalizer, there were many new sounds he could produce.

Things turned awkward quickly. Tailgate had tried to slot his helm under Cyclonus’ chin as usual, but Cyclonus simply found sharp, metal horns dangerously close to his face. He pushed his discomfort harshly aside, however, considerably small digits cradling his partner’s helm to his boxy chest, attempting to croon.

It was literally routine, something familiar that they shared, but irritation was grating and sharp in Cyclonus’ circuits. His visor was a dark and brooding blue because of his emotions. Tailgate was venting softly against plating now but this was wrong, everything was wrong.

“Ridiculous,” Cyclonus mumbled again, and stopped petting Tailgate’s helm. Instead, he ran his fingers along the seams of his facemask, intentionally cycling and uncycling the oral intake he now possessed, “How is this frame even practical? You wouldn’t survive a blow to the helm; you’d be nothing but a cube. And this…this thing behind your head, it obstructs peripheral vision. How am I supposed to know if anyone’s coming up behind me?” He reached down to press his thumb on the tires embedded in the frame’s thigh, “ _Ridiculous._ ”.

Tailgate had looked up at a point, and he was frowning in disapproval, “Hey. Hey! That’s my frame you’re groping. That’s not fair.” He sat up, causing Cyclonus to bounce a little in his lap, but pulled his rightful frame closer by the hips.

Then, he started his own exploration, one hand sweeping up to wrap fingers around the horn he made, and the other trailing down purple plating, “Not _all_ of us were designed for war, obviously, as you know now I definitely wasn’t meant for anything but—oh!” His venting stalled, optics flashing bright red with surprise.

Tailgate looked down, and noticed the curve of his claws under the rise of the jetframe’s chestplates. He glided his fingers again and outright shuddered, a wave of heat expulsed from his vents in pleasure. His optics went momentarily offline, but when they came on again, they were sultry and dim.

The smile Tailgate gave Cyclonus was near evil, and his voice was dripping with intent and promise, “Oh Cyclonuuus. Guess what I found? A sensitive spot you never told me about before.”

Dread was heavy in Cyclonus spark, but somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Clawed fingers moved with more vigour and resolve, and all he could do was…watch.


	40. blackarachnia+optimus (TFA); memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP.  
> kay, i didn’t want to go with genderbend, so i wrote about a femme (because god knows i don’t write them enough ~~mostly due to intimidation and adoration and fear of getting em wrong~~ ) and this isnt exactly a pairing thing but who gives a ding dong, not me. this is more like…an introspection? aint happy w it bc i dont think i did BA justice, but i wanted to try, and this was meant to be for practice anyways

It had been a while since reminiscing.

Blackarachnia never had time for that anymore, or rather she made sure she never had time for memories, because they were unnecessary and a weakness. She had never been that sentimental, anyway. Not even when she was whole; when she was right.

Falling in with the Decepticons had been more out of incidental convenience rather than any real attempt to gain allies, and even there, she didn’t fit. That didn’t come as a surprise, of course, and after Megatron’s disappearance and the disaster of Starscream’s command, Blackarachnia didn’t find herself reliving memories of being in the Decepticons’ company either.

Even in her thoughts, she was alone, and it wasn’t a problem. It wasn’t something she thought about often, not as much as everything else.

Till she met Optimus, again.

Granted that it had been a plan of revenge, she _wanted_ to meet Optimus, wanted to reveal herself and laugh in his face, wanted to mock his predictable sorrowful expression.

She was _Blackarachnia_ , now, and she had been through hell itself and survived. She wanted to shove the fact in the Prime’s face that it was he who allowed this to happen to her, despite spark-felt promises and dreamy discussions about the future; their future, the three of them.

She could purge at how foolishly bright-opticked they all were. Young idiots, at their best.

And yet, the memories came.

It was as if the close proximity to her former colleague had lowered her restraint, her processor filled with thoughts of happier times.

Things were supposed to go great for her.

But such was life. She still had hope, she would go through a thousand mechs to get herself back, and a thousand more to seek her revenge.

If only these memories weren’t plaguing her still.

It didn’t matter. Things were looking up, despite her previous failure in engaging the Autobots, but there was hope left. She would survive this, as she had, many times before.

But some nights, in recharge, there would be the phantom feeling of an arm draped haphazardly around her shoulders, and the warm plating of another limb brushing up against hers, and she’d smile so much, her cheeks hurt.


	41. skyfire/starscream; Sharing Clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP. g1, academy days, pretty dang suggestive  
> this was really dumb omg i dont even know how to explain. probably quite ooc but idk, theyre in afterglow and things are stupid cute sometimes in that certain situation (at least i think so). but i went with the whole ‘detachable plating’ deal bc i liked it and it seemed fitting. but yes. okay here’s this

“You do realize that’s too big for you, right?”

Skyfire’s words were a little mumbled, but it was only logical, considering how enthusiastic he had been just minutes ago. Steam was still wafting from his pectoral vents, that final overload still sending small aftershocks through the entirety of his systems; sharp doses of pleasure.

Starscream had rolled off of him and stretched luxuriously, his field pulsing lazy waves of contentment. It was then that he grabbed a piece of Skyfire’s armour; his chest plating, it seemed; and draped the metal over himself. Blue fingers skittered over its edges, shifting and repositioning it onto his bare protoform.

His voice was thick with sarcasm, “Oh, _really_? I didn’t know that, Skyfire! Thank the Allspark you informed me of our size difference, I wouldn’t have ever guessed that you were almost two heads taller than I was, not to mention wider! What would I _ever_ do without you, sweetspark?”

The good mood Skyfire had dissipated a little, irritation seeping into his field. Starscream could feel it, he was sure, judging from the smug smirk the Seeker was wearing. “Cheek,” he grumbled, and sat up.

Only to turn around, lying back on his front. His wings flicked in relief at the cessation of being pinned onto the berth, and Skyfire watched Starscream in amusement. The Seeker was still fiddling with Skyfire’s armour, frame undulating a little at the apparent weight of it. That really wasn’t helping things.

“Where’s your plating?” Skyfire looked around, before spying something red on the floor, “Oh, there it is.” It was beside Starscream’s side of the berth, though, but Skyfire wasn’t discouraged. He scooted sideways, leaning over Starscream’s legs to reach for the metal.

“Oww, Skyfire! You’re going to crush my legs!” whined his partner, and Skyfire ignored it. He wasn’t _that_ heavy. Red plating successfully in grasp, he returned to his former position, and Starscream pouted at him.

Skyfire rolled his optics, but reached to pat at Starscream’s legs, “I apologize. Want me to kiss your feet better?”

Red optics flashed and Skyfire quickly backtracked, “On second thought, no, I’m not going to kiss your feet. Deal with it.”

Starscream made a face but thankfully didn’t push the issue. He toyed with the clasps of Skyfire’s chest plating settled on his own body, content enough to listen to the slowing hum of their engines.

He looked to the side at one point, though, as Skyfire traced slight dents in the sides of the red pelvic armour (surely made when he gripped Starscream too hard previously), and made a sound of delight. Starscream reached over and down, and lifted a rectangular piece of white metal.

Skyfire’s panel, of course.

“Look!” Starscream snickered, turning the metal around so the inner lining faced Skyfire, “You were pretty excited, weren’t you?” The evidence to that claim was lubricant, smeared over the inside of Skyfire’s interface panel and the shuttle’s circuits burned with embarrassment.

Starscream was outright laughing now, fuelled by Skyfire’s rapidly darkening cheeks, and enough was enough. He lunged, hand grabbing Starscream’s wing to bodily pull him closer. Skyfire loomed in the best way he knew how, fairly disgruntled, “You’re definitely getting it now.”

For some reason, Starscream’s bright optics and sudden stillness didn’t seem to have anything to do with intimidation at all.


	42. optimus prime/prowl (TFA); Zombie AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for 30 days of OTP.  
> mention of sexual relations, possible necrophilia (sort of), death mention  
> ok this is more of an extrapolation from what happened to prowl at the end of s3 tfa; basically he came back. hence zombies. i started out the OTP thing with tooth rotting fluff, so im gonna end it with something almost completely the opposite of that. this was a weird thing to write. im not sure if i got the mood right, but here it is.

It wasn’t natural. He knew that much.

Sparks were the life force, sparks were what made a mechanism whole; their very essence. Sparks were emotions and personality and existence. Without a spark, there would be nothing. A void, literally and figuratively, a hole in the being of a mecha. That was what he had been told ever since he was a protoform.

And yet here he was, lying with a mech who was virtually dead.

Recently, Optimus Prime found himself unable to fall into recharge. He knew exactly when the sleepless nights began, but never addressed it, as if not mentioning the issue at hand would make things less complicated.

That didn't seem to be the case.

When Prowl came back, frame as gray as the decaying bodies of their late ancestors, Optimus was bombarded by a barrage of emotions. Relief, joy. Shock and confusion. But fear was the most prominent, a deep chill in the very core of his spark, its tendrils snaking outwards into his circuitry, the cold biting into his lines.

Prowl had smiled then, gray hand resting over his chest and said his name so softly Optimus couldn't help but gather his companion into his arms.

The fear remained, settling deep.

Optimus had never thought too much about life and death previous to his own temporary passing that occurred during their first weeks on Earth. He had been revived from permanent shutdown, and he could remember vividly the moments when his spark extinguished. He remembered nothing, but he could also remember the rekindling of his life, flickering heat starting up in his spark chamber before he was brought online once more, and his spark never wavered once after the incident.

There wasn't a trace of life in Prowl anymore. Optimus had tried looking; he had tried so hard; but there wasn't a single indication of living.

(So what could be said of the Prime, who brought his dead friend to overload time and time again after their reconciliation, carefully watching for the swelling of light and finding nothing? What did it mean if he had traced the connections in Prowl’s empty spark chamber with his fingers, put his mouth there, hoping for electricity to burn the nodes of his tongue but ended up without reward? )

And yet they retire to the same berth each night, with Optimus' arms around Prowl, till the cold of his partner's frame became too overwhelming and he couldn't bear being close anymore.

It wasn't as if Prowl was oblivious to the conflict of thought in Prime's mind. Optimus knew Prowl was aware, but the former cyberninja did nothing aside from looking at him in silence at moments, sitting so still he might as well be...

Optimus had lost a friend, and he hadn't been sure how to continue without Prowl. Prowl had been most of everything to him. He had adored Prowl like no other.

But Prowl had returned, and Optimus wasn't so sure if he should have.


	43. cyclonus/tailgate; Tourist|Knowledgeable Local AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> request from tumblr user beasies from an ask meme!  
> just imagine these guys in a weird cybertron-based world. also tailgate's lying.

He was doing it all wrong, of course. They always did it wrong.

 

Cyclonus suppressed the urge to sigh, lest the foreigner felt offended and demanded back his credits. As if Cyclonus asked to put up with these people. He decided to do what he always did, ignore them and focus on his work.

"Um, sir?" the minibot piped up, though, tipping his head to one side as he observed his own work, "Am I doing it right?"

"No," Cyclonus said simply. It could have been the almost innocent flash of the tourist’s visor, or the self-deprecation that rippled through his field, but Cyclonus looked over the woven metalwork in the minibot’s hands, "You have to thread them closer together, there are gaps in your piece. In time, it would unravel and fall apart. Would you rather me make one for you instead? I shouldn’t have to remind you that there will be no refunds."

The tourist looked up and shook his head, reverting back to his original enthusiastic state, “Oh, no, no. I’d rather have the experience, you know? Sure this sucks, but I do so want to at least try. Plus you’re doing them really beautifully, and you’re teaching me, so I can’t be  _that_  bad off, can I?”

_Quite bad, actually,_ Cyclonus thought, but dismissed himself. 

//

Cyclonus held the mesh in his hands; misshapen and inelegant as it was; and paused at the sight of it. It seemed that the little tourist had went around and asked about their native language, as the glyph entwined into the metal was clearly Tetrahexian. 

The minibot’s visor shone happily at his apparent loss of words, “Please take it. It’s for you. I’m leaving soon, and I just wanted you to have it. It’s not pretty or anything, but I hope you’ll at least remember me when I’m gone.”

A pause, before the minibot’s hand flew to his head to receive a comm. message. He looked up and laughed lightly, voice tinged with regret, “That’s my shuttle! I have to go. Bye Cyclonus, it’s been a real pleasure.”

He turned and walked away, but stopped when Cyclonus grated out a, “Wait.” 

The jetformer held the piece to his chest, caging it carefully in between his digits, “I don’t believe you have told me your designation.”

"Oh, it’s Tailgate," replied the minibot easily, and lifted his hand for a wave, "Tailgate of New Iacon. Goodbye!"

He left running, clearly late for his departure.

Cyclonus watched him for a while, before glancing again at the metal in his hands. The glyph read ‘spark’ in his native tongue; it was culture to weave words into their metal pieces. He never told Tailgate that. But weaving the word ‘spark’ was a popular courting gesture, one mainly used in the olden days. 

Tailgate had just given Cyclonus his spark.


	44. swindle/lockdown (TFA); two miserable people meeting at a wedding AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for tailgato from an ask meme!  
> some random OCs, but of course.

Everything was mighty fancy, the decorations, the music, the food, the drinks. Lockdown could only tolerate the drinks, really.

 

The bonding that had taken place was significantly sappy; the entire first row of mechanisms had started sniffing and blowing into their little kerchiefs; and everyone had bright optics as the two mechs on the altar kissed slowly, with much deliberation.

Lockdown might have put an effort to not roll his own optics, but failed.

There were dance and song, now, and Lockdown was swirling the fancy high grade in his hand while absently watching the bonded couple. They seemed happy enough. Good for them.

"Oh, it’s a pleasure! But I really need to sit down, Flashwing, you really tired me out," laughed someone in close proximity, loud enough for Lockdown to hear every single word. It was just his luck that the mech pulled the chair of the table he was sitting at, all wide smiles, "Hi. Do you mind if I sit here for a while?"

"Not at all," grumbled Lockdown in return, and ignored the yellow mech altogether. He had his optics on his target, no one else mattered.

Another mechanism, a bright blue flier, approached their table and leaned over the seated mech, saying something possibly skeevy from his tone. The yellow mech simply shifted away and laughed, dismissing the flier with a, “Please, give me a break, I’d dance my knee joints off at this rate! Are you going to pay for my surgery? I think not. Later, later. Then we’ll talk business, too.”

The flier skulked away eventually, but Lockdown’s interest was already on the yellow mech who everyone seemed to want to dance with. Purple optics noticed him, and the mech smiled, lifting his glass of energon. It was subtle, but the smile never reached his eyes, “Cheers.”

"Cheers," Lockdown replied, tilting his own glass with a smirk, "You don’t really want to be here, do you?"

There was momentary pause before the smaller mech chuckled, gesturing around, “Are you kidding me? I love this scene, there’s so much potential in everybody. Bonding ceremonies are the best place for new connections. Though, I’ve gotta say,” he leaned in closer, smile replaced with something much more disgruntled, “Do they  _have_  to simper like that?”

Lockdown glanced over at the dancing couple and laughed, shoulders shaking with mirth. The yellow mech leaned back and smiled again, genuinely this time, “I’m Swindle, by the way. And I noticed that your hand’s interchangeable. Are you into mods?”

That caught Lockdown’s full attention, “Am I ever. You got anythin’ good on you?”

Swindle’s consequent grin was very, very attractive, Lockdown noted. 

//

"Darling, look," Redclash said to his newly bonded, "Swindle’s here. He looks like he’s having a lot of fun."

"Ah yes, I invited him. Of course I did, he helped me a lot during my days in the force." Gunstack twirled Redclash around, much to the delighted cooing of their audience, “Oh, you’re right, he really is having fun. Look at how close to each other those two are.”

Redclash smirked, “Ten shanix says they’ll make out in ten minutes.”

"Red!" Gunstack giggled, lightly smacking his bonded’s arm. He frowned soon enough, though, head tilted to one side, "But who is that other mech? He looks quite…eccentric. I don’t believe I know him."

A glance towards the mech mentioned, and Redclash was puzzled, too, “What? I thought he came from your side of the family. Certainly not anyone I know.”

"Huh," Gunstack went silent with thought, before shrugging, "Oh well. Perhaps he’s Swindle’s acquaintance. He does look like he’s enjoying himself, too."


	45. cyclonus+tailgate; Co-Stars AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for guileless-second from an ask meme  
> very, very short.

Cyclonus saw the little white servo reach for him long before it did, out of his periphery. He had the choice to move away, but he didn’t.

 Small fingers brushed the plating of his arm, and Cyclonus turned his head.

Tailgate’s visor was bright and narrowed in his excitement, field loud with enthusiasm.

"Hello, Cyclonus! Nice to finally meet you. I’m Tailgate. I’ve always loved your voice; your songs always touch my spark. You’re a wonderful artist. I mean, I’ve won a few awards myself, but you’re just on a whole other level! I look very forward in singing with you."

The jetformer watched the minibot ramble for a while, trying to place his name and his visage. Nothing clicked. It was almost as if the minibot haven’t been in existence till this very moment.

But when the time came, it was nothing like singing with Galvatron. With Tailgate, Cyclonus felt liberated.


	46. blurr/shockwave; Celebrity|Fan AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also written for guileless-second, a request from an ask meme.

It was hard enough agreeing to meet his admirers for a while, and it was harder to actually interact with them. 

He was bombarded with datapads, all requesting autographs and pictures, voices yelling and screeching at him about how much they adored him, how fast he was, how he was their hero.

As if he didn’t know.

Blurr tried really hard to not snap out at the group of mechanisms around him, pulling his field in so tight it could have snapped and crackled against his own heated plating. He wanted to leave so bad, but he had agreed. Thirty minutes. He could do this.

Forcing a smile, he nodded and posed accordingly for every flash of a shutter. But his apparent calm crumbled away soon enough, the frames of mechs and femmes crowding him. Blurr looked around almost frantically, trying to find someone he knew, a crew member, a friend,  _someone._

A bright, red optic caught his, and Blurr stared.

He didn’t know the mech, that was for sure, but the optic grounded him more than anything else. He didn’t acknowledge any of the other fans fawning over him, or the bump of over-excited bodies against his. He tried to muster up a smile for that particular mechanism, but he couldn’t bring himself to. It didn’t feel right.

It wasn’t till the fan meeting was over with, and Blurr took his time venting in and out before leaving the race track that the one-opticked mech approached him. Blurr’s bodyguard was nowhere to be seen, and there was no one else around.

Blurr couldn’t bring himself to stop staring at that optic this time, too. 

The mech offered him a claw once they were a few steps apart, and he took it.

"Shockwave," the mech said, helm bowing in some form of respect, "I really admire the way you run."

This time, Blurr smiled.


	47. wasp/ironhide (TFA); odd sensations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i read the latest chapter of mercurymaplekey's 'Picture Perfect' and needed really fluffy, cheesy as Hell, wasp+ironhide makeouts. i needed it, really. this is nothing but fluff and dumb things and its short but i _needed_ it, im the sovereign of unnecessary cheese, sue me  
> no really sue me i cant stop myself
> 
> song from here [[x]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NgSrrPMKlvw)

_and i bet she told a million people that she’d stay in touch_   
_but all the little promises they don’t mean much_   
_when there’s memories to be made_   
_and i hope you’re holding hands by new years’ eve_   
_they made it far too easy to believe_   
_that true romance can’t be achieved these days_

_//_

Something felt weird.  Something was… off.

 

Wasp pulled himself up to his berth, bottle of standard issue lubricant in hand. They had been ordered to complete a set of challenges that day; nothing too intense; but Wasp had finished first and had gotten clearance to leave a while as his peers were still training. His joints felt a little stiff after the almost herculean effort of pulling his weight up a high ledge, multiple times, and since he was free, he figured some self-maintenance could be done.

It felt good being alone in the barracks while everyone else was struggling to finish what he had completed like, an hour ago.  Languidly untwisting the cap on his bottle, he swirled it around before lifting the brush up to oil the joints in his arms.

He’d do the ones in his shoulders next, but it seemed to have been months since he last oiled them himself. Ironhide always did those for him.

Ironhide.

The odd feeling intensified, and Wasp had to pause his movements lest he got lubricant everywhere.  What was this?

Ironhide was still doing the challenges, but he was nearing the end when Wasp left the training grounds. He was right after Longarm, and had grinned and gave Wasp a thumbs up when the mini glanced back to wave cockily at his peers. Thinking about it, that was when he started feeling weird. Huh.

Wasp snapped himself out of it, aggressively shifting to brush on more oil into his seams. Putting the bottle aside, he flexed his arm, relieved that there wasn’t as much friction as there was before. He lifted the arm, and winced a little at the roughness in his shoulder movement. He  _could_ do it himself, but Ironhide always offered…

The mini groaned, free hand smacking onto his faceplates in his embarrassment. And the tingling  _still_ hadn’t gone away, and he wasn’t even sure where it was coming from. He unclasped his mouth guard, just so he could groan easier, because vocalizing his frustration made him feel better, somehow. Then he found the source of his discomfort.

His lip components. They were  _tingling._  Quite surprised, he put the brush away and gently touched his mouth, curious. Did he accidently ingest some bad energon? Did he wash his face with too much solvent? Was he in contact with something acidic?

The only significant thing he had done with his mouth without his guard on in the last 24 hours would be eating, drinking and—. Well, he had kissed Ironhide, against the wall of the storage shed they hung out in, and it had alternated between playful pecks and slow, lavish strokes of their lips and tongues and Wasp was really…

He rubbed at his lip components, ignoring the way his face was heating up. Was it because of Ironhide? Had the kissing messed up his sensory input? That seemed unlikely, but he was thinking of kissing Ironhide again and his lip plating was driving him crazy. He even wiped at them with his palm, as if the contact would make the tingling dissipate.

“Wasp?” came the voice from the barracks’ entrance, and Wasp’s head snapped up, having been a little too engrossed in his ministrations. It was Ironhide, grinning at him. Wasp brought his hand away from his mouth, but the odd sensation persisted.

“You done with training?” he asked, casually, definitely not looking at Ironhide’s own mouth.

His colleague nodded, expression something quite smug, “Yep. Came in third, after you and Longarm. Decided to come see ya. Sarge said it ain’t over though, we gotta wait for Bulkhead and Bee for debriefing, then we’re dimissed. Your joints doin’ okay?”

Wasp nodded, flexing his arms again. He reached for the lubricant but Ironhide was faster, “Done with your shoulders? If not, I’ll do it for you.”

Typical Ironhide. He scoffed, but allowed it, Ironhide hauling himself up to sit on Wasp’s berth, using his own as leverage. Wasp turned to him halfway, as Ironhide dipped the brush into the oil and began to gently lather the small mechanisms in Wasp’s shoulder seams.

It couldn’t be helped. Wasp watched Ironhide, watched the small smile that seemed to grace his faceplates at all times whenever it was just the two of them, watched the way the cables in his arm stretched and loosened, watched his optics.

The prickling in his lip components was annoying, now, and Wasp still didn’t know why it was happening.

Ironhide had noticed his staring at some point, and gave him a real smile, optics turning a slightly different shade of blue. He glanced to the side once, before his free hand rose to touch Wasp’s chin, fingers lightly lifting the mini’s face up.

Wasp’s lip components parted out of his own volition, and he wanted to sound wary and serious, but his words came out as murmurings, “No one’s coming?”

“Doubt it. Everyone’s waiting for debriefing. We should go there when we’re done here.” Ironhide’s own voice quieted down into nothing but whispers, leaning ever closer, and Wasp’s optics offlined as their lips touched.

The odd tingling stopped completely, replaced by the warm press of Ironhide’s mouth against his, heat suffusing from the contact to spread throughout his frame, making his spark swirl and spin, heady. 

He should have known, really.


	48. blurr/longarm prime|shockwave; webcams [NSFW]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> direct sequel to chapter 36, and still based on [Hambone's Textbook Felony verse](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1979883) but not running with its plot!  
> dirty talk, webcams, masturbation, all that jazz.

His faceplates had taken on a blush, darkening the curves of his cheeks as he looked at the floor, trying to control himself.

One of his shoulder slanted up, arm cables stretching as he rubbed circles along the lips of his valve. He dipped a finger in and out of himself, hardly deep enough to give him any satisfaction.

His words came out shaky, “I miss…I miss you being close to me.”

The blue of his optics were flickering, turned a few shades darker. He had taken to biting lightly at his lower lip component, proving to be quite the picture for Longarm. Blurr vented, glancing up almost demurely to look at his teacher.

Longarm’s right arm had disappeared, out of sight, and Blurr could only imagine where it was. Hopefully on a spike; the one he hadn’t seen yet, the one he wanted  _so much;_ tugging, jerking…

“I miss your field against mine,” he gasped out, thrusting two fingers into himself, impatient. It stung a little, the rough friction, but Doctor Longarm was watching and Blurr wanted to please him terribly.

“Slower, Blurr,” Longarm murmured, his own optics half-shuttered, “Slowly. I want to watch you be thorough with yourself.”

The pout Blurr responded with wasn’t exactly unintentional, but he took out a finger, pushing in the remaining one to the knuckle before curling it. The tip of his finger scraped over the upper walls of his valve, and he shuddered visibly in pleasure. It wasn’t anywhere close to being enough, but Longarm’s gaze through his screen was intense, and he hadn’t gone slow for a long, long time.

“Good boy,” hummed his teacher, “Continue.”

So he did, free hand lifting to caress his own chest, his neck, “I miss s-sitting on your lap, Doctor. I miss having your arms around me, over and over.”

He put pressure on his grasp, dragging fingers down his front so hard there was a screeching as result. There was no objection from Longarm when he slid a second finger inside, thumb teasing his anterior node. It took a while for him to speak again, grinding his teeth as he wiggled his digits around, hips pushing up for more, allowing himself only to tweak at his aching, swelling node. Undoubtedly, Longarm had a perfect view of all this; Blurr was sure, there was a small window in the corner of his monitor featuring his own webcam’s view, and no part of him was sheltered.

Fluid dribbled down his aft when he pulled his fingers out, and the sheen it made against his plating in the low light made him dizzy.

His clean hand dropped to his thigh, gripping momentarily, before sliding back up along the curves of his frame. There were minute shifts in Longarm’s shoulder joint now, and Blurr decided to just let his imagination run wild.

He had thought about Longarm’s spike a lot; not really in terms of appearance or size or anything physical; focusing mostly on fabricating the feel of its girth and width inside of him. He imagined his teacher’s spike finally splitting him open, all scorching heat and intense pressure, pushing against his walls and seated fully inside him. He wanted to ride it, impale himself time and time again while Longarm praised him for being lovely, for being so willing. He wanted it in his mouth, his valve, sliding over his own spike, wanted to hold it in his hands and worship it.

He wanted to  _worship,_ and he had missed Doctor Longarm so badly…

“I missed your fingers!” Four of his own were in him now, and instead of thrusting the digits, he rolled his hips into them, languid yet needy, anchoring himself to the ground with his feet. His aft wasn’t touching the chair he was in anymore, but he leaned his weight against the furniture, back strut arched, “Missed you f-fragging me with them, Sir, missed having my legs around you. Doctor Longarm, I miss you, I want you, I need, I _need—_!”

Blurr moaned desperately, fingers jamming into himself as his hips jerked, other hand gripping at the chair lest it fell over. Doctor Longarm wasn’t telling him to go slow now, and he couldn’t even if he wanted to, too lost in his thoughts and Longarm’s virtual presence to even pretend having anything resembling control.

He barely even heard his teacher’s words, but forced himself to stop panting like a dog once he did.

Longarm sounded amused, but his tone was slightly strained, “What made you so excited suddenly, pet? What were you thinking of?”

“ _You,_ ” Blurr whimpered, miserably, as if tortured, “You, oh, oh you, always you Doctor, you, ah, Doctor  _Longarm—.”_

His climax made him writhe and twist violently on the chair, thumb pressed hard over his node and his valve spread wide over his fingers, lubricant spurting in between them obscenely. Drool slid down the corner of his mouth as his vocalizer recalibrated again and again to repress a scream, a failsafe so his vocalizer doesn’t blow out.

Blurr hovered for a while, riding the high of the charge just dispelled from him, and gently dropped his aft back on the chair. Not for long, however, as he surged forward; fingers still sticky and wet; to press his lip components and face to the screen of his monitor, to the little webcam on it.

It was idiotic, the act of sloppily kissing his computer, but he was overwhelmed with need for contact. “Come back soon,” Blurr vented, optics hazy with his pleasure, “Please come back soon, Sir. I miss you so much I could die.”

Longarm’s light sigh sent warmth through his frame, made him yearn, and when his teacher reached to lightly press fingers against the other side of the screen, Blurr nuzzled against the glass, as if he could feel Longarm’s touch that way. He didn’t care.

“I’ll return sooner than you think, love,” said Doctor Longarm, and the gratitude that welled up inside Blurr could have made him burst.


	49. prowl/constructicons; kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kisses. kisses everywhere. it’s so silly, it’s just drabbles of prowl smooching them, seriously. also probably out of character, so apologies for that!  
> written for tumblr user cryptickiss' birthday!

It wasn’t something pre-empted, like most of the decisions Prowl made, but something entirely unplanned. 

But instead of analyzing the situation and coming up with a million ways to backtrack from what seemed to be a mistake or making even more reassessments of how he could fix his problem; Prowl simply let it be. 

Scavenger had been in his office, handing him reports. He didn’t need to be there. Prowl could have easily done everything himself, really, but the Constructicon had entered his office quietly and even asked politely to stay and help with whatever Prowl needed, and Prowl really wasn’t in the mood for a pang of sadness through their ridiculous bond. Sorrow coming from  _Scavenger_ was worst of all. It was like an all-encompassing spark ache that wouldn’t let go, ever.

So he allowed the Constructicon to stay after briefing him through a few ground rules, which Scavenger seemed to accept graciously. 

And he was surprisingly docile through everything. It was almost nice, sitting quietly with Scavenger, as the mech passed him reports according to priority, his field just a light, gentle pulse against Prowl’s whenever the enforcer looked up at him. 

He had been so companionable that Prowl was overcome with an indescribable urge. Scavenger had stood up to leave, optics dim with his gratitude of being able to sit with Prowl, and Prowl just…

He had reached for Scavenger’s arm, pulled him down a little, and kissed him right on the facemask. 

Scavenger’s optics had went bright, blinding in his shock, and Prowl just offered him a small smile and a “Thank you for your help, Scavenger.” It was a rarity that Prowl became physical with any of them, but Prowl had treated the kiss like it was a norm so Scavenger left afterwards, despite how stunned he was still. 

It was sort of a mistake. Prowl had given in to his urges without thinking twice, but for some reason, he didn’t feel even the slightest regret. 

And when Scavenger’s absolute elation spread through the gestalt bond, the feeling an incredible warmth that just made mechs smile, Prowl made a decision.

//

Prowl had been expecting confrontation; he had thought up all the scenarios that could occur; and Long Haul approaching him with an EM-field laced with amusement was certainly one of them. Long Haul had waved at him from far away, leaning against the wall as Prowl stopped to address the truck.

“Hey, Prowl,” Long Haul started, optics narrowing in some sort of glee, “Heard that something interesting happened yesterday.”

Calm and fairly collected, Prowl raised an optic ridge at him, “Like what, Long Haul?”

“Oh, you know. Something along the lines of giving Scavenger a little kiss?” The question wasn’t really a question, smugness practically dripping from his tone, “What’s the matter, Prowl? You noticed that we’re pretty kissable after all? Bond getting a little too intense? It’s only natural, and it’s about time.”

The enforcer didn’t say a word; merely opting to fold his arms and not react to Long Haul’s juvenile teasing. He supposed he could be lenient with the truck for a while; it wasn’t as if whatever the mech said was true, after all. Long Haul stopped his playful banter to snicker a bit, and Prowl took the chance to ask, “Why? Do you want a kiss, too?”

Long Haul did not expect that. His visor went bright red in his surprise, his field rippling with sudden desire and shock, but he leaned forward, tilting his head, challenging. Prowl was never one to back down from something like that.

He kissed Long Haul’s mask, just a peck of the lips before parting them, dragging dentae over the metal once and he slid his tongue over the scrape in a languid stroke. Long Haul spluttered, heat rushing up to his faceplates at an alarming rate, and Prowl leaned back after one last kiss to the wet patch he made on the mask.

He kept his expression as neutral as ever, “Happy?”

The truck was still very stunned, before his field swelled with satisfaction, and he nodded once, optical band narrowing again in his pleasure.

“Very.”

//

It was with aggression that Prowl kissed Bonecrusher, frustration fuelling his so-called experimentation.  But then again he was always frustrated with Bonecrusher, the mech’s own brutish behaviour and crass remarks always managed to make Prowl raise his voice. Again, Bonecrusher had done something he shouldn’t, and was becoming increasingly difficult for Prowl to deal with in a calm manner. The mech frustrated him.

But their bond was insistent, recognizing Bonecrusher as one of his own so the urge came to Prowl almost naturally. He had been in the middle of reprimanding the bulldozer, before realizing that some things were just better expressed through physical terms. So Prowl reached up and grabbed Bonecrusher’s helm, roughly jerking him downwards to bite at the Constructicon’s lips.

It was still a kiss, albeit a rough, painful one and Prowl let his anger translate into an aggressive lip lock. Bonecrusher had been quite surprised, but not for long. He kissed Prowl back just as angrily, but his frame was practically thrumming with excited apprehension, definitely stunned by the turn of events.

Prowl released him by shoving his chest almost rudely, his faceplates conveying his dissatisfaction loud and clear. Bonecrusher rubbed at his own lips, looking almost sheepish despite his frown. They stood there a while, glaring at each other, before Bonecrusher vented and looked away.

“Okay Prowl. I got your point. Sorry. Not gonna happen again.”

The admission was miraculous, but Bonecrusher left Prowl with nothing but that, still rubbing at his mouth. The bond informed Prowl that there weren’t any unsavoury feelings directed toward him for his spontaneous gesture, instead Bonecrusher was feeling fairly fine and apologetic. Also highly motivated, his presence seeming to sharpen in their bond.

His hypothesis was proven to be true, once again.

//

Mixmaster had come into Prowl’s office as he does every time he had finished experimenting with energon, usually only bringing the best of his productions for Prowl’s scrutiny. Of course Prowl didn’t  _ask_  to inspect Mixmaster’s brew, but the cement mixer brought it over anyway, every time. Prowl’s acceptance seemed to mean the world to him.

And as usual, Mixmaster’s new concoction was amazing this time around, too. It was airy and light on the glossa, and left a refreshing aftertaste. Prowl had downed his cube and smiled at Mixmaster, genuinely impressed, “That was exceptional, Mixmaster. I think this is your best result, yet.”

The Constructicon was almost visibly shaky with his happiness, grinning wide at Prowl’s compliment, “Really? You really think so? Frag, Prowl, that means a lot! Thanks mech, I should mass produce this slag or somethin’, sell it somewhere. Maybe I could make a fortune.”

“Maybe you could, after these trying times,” Prowl said, and purposefully touched Mixmaster’s arm, leaning closer, “May I give you a reward for doing so well?”

Mixmaster stopped moving altogether, his optics wide, wide circles, “Uh. Um, yeah?”

Prowl moved slowly, but pressed their lip components together in a firm kiss. Mixmaster seemed to turn into putty at the contact. Prowl tilted his head and Mixmaster followed, his hands suddenly lifting to cradle Prowl’s face and Prowl lost control for a moment.

Mixmaster lost himself, kissing Prowl again and again; shuddery, frantic kisses; little appreciative noises escaping him. Prowl had meant to only give him one kiss, but it was hard to not bask in Mixmaster’s attentions, his field engulfing Prowl in terrible, overwhelming warmth while he kissed Prowl like he couldn’t get enough of the Autobot.

The enforcer steeled himself soon enough nevertheless, pulling himself away with great effort, much to the despair of Mixmaster. The Constructicon surged forward to recapture Prowl’s lips but he put a stop to that, gripping the mech’s shoulders, holding him at bay.

“I said  _a_ reward, Mixmaster, not rewards.”

Mixmaster whined, but ceased his efforts to gain more kisses, his lip components pressed against each other like he was trying to rein himself in.

“Sorry Prowl,” he said soon after, “It’s just really good. Kissing you, I mean. And kissing you when you taste like something I made is even better.”

Prowl absolutely refused to blush, but he couldn’t deny the slight stutter in his vocalizer as he expressed his understanding. He fled the scene, but not before noting Mixmaster’s panic-like joy broadcasted through their shared bond.

//

“So,” Hook said, closing Prowl’s medical ports with a light tap, his tone fairly conversational, “I hear you’ve been going around kissing the rest of the team.”

Prowl rolled his shoulder joints a few times, feeling a little stiff from how he had needed to keep still, “I have.”

“Is there something you’re trying to pull here, then? Is it something that’s going to mess us all up?”

He looked over at Hook, a little surprised, but couldn’t really blame the crane. It was nature to be suspicious, especially considering how adverse Prowl was to their unlikely gestalt. He still felt that way. But things had changed a little.

“No. I suppose you could call what I’m doing strategic planning, but no one will be harmed. I guarantee you that.”

Hook made a noise of acknowledgement, putting away some tools, before focusing entirely on Prowl, leaning against the medical berth, “Fine, if you say so. It’s just odd, is all. I’m done with your check up too; I’ll remind you of the next one in two weeks.”

The Autobot nodded, pushing himself off the berth, “Thank you, Hook.” He moved closer to the medic, and didn’t even try to hide a glance he took at Hook’s lip components, “May I?”

“Yes,” Hook replied, his tone betraying that he had been waiting for Prowl to do this, and Prowl didn’t let him wait any longer. He kissed Hook, gently, and the medic’s optics shuttered close. Prowl let his gratitude known through their kiss and his field as well, always thankful that Hook had taken to ensuring his optimal function ever since they combined, and did quite a good job at it. Hook pulsed slight offense, as if scoffing at Prowl’s initial doubt of his abilities, but his attention was mostly on the kiss.

It was slow and chaste, and very, very nice, and when Prowl pulled away with a lighter kiss to the side of Hook’s mouth, Hook was smiling.

“I shall return here in two weeks, then.”

“You’d better,” murmured the crane, and Prowl left with a slight smile on his own faceplates.

His experiment was considered complete for the moment, it seemed. He assessed the gestalt bond, and it was buzzing with the presence of five other sparks as well, but everything seemed lighter, a little easier. It felt much less like a burden than ever before, and Prowl knew that he had made the right decision.


	50. optimus prime/prowl (TFA); intimacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> birthday present for musashi-loves-robots on tumblr! 
> 
> so much _fluff_

It had started a long time ago, that was for sure. But things really took place that day, after that particular mission, and Prowl was certain that he would combust from the inside and that would be the end of him.

But what a way to go.

Optimus was holding his shoulders, leaning incredibly close, his optics bright with worry. He was saying something but the words didn’t register, not yet. Optimus’ grip on his frame was grounding, and Prowl couldn’t help but admire the authoritative, handsome lines of his leader’s faceplates.

He really was helm over heels for the Prime.

"—Are you hurt? You almost didn’t get out of there in time, are you sure you’re okay? Prowl?"

The cyberninja reset his optics a few times, before offering Optimus a reassuring smile, “I’m fine. I’m perfectly okay, Optimus, look. Not a scratch.” He wanted to reach up and place his own hand over Optimus’, the urge almost painful, wanting to know what the blue plating felt like under his fingers.

But the Prime’s left hand lifted to cup his face, and Prowl’s visor went blinding bright in surprise.

"Hey, let me check the two of ya, get your afts here!" yelled Ratchet from a distance, and the spell was broken.

"Come on," Optimus said, pulling back from Prowl altogether, before walking away.

And Prowl couldn’t take his mind off the touch to his face for hours after.

//

They had been driving back from a public appearance, the communal monthly event made compulsory by the mayor, and it had been delightful meeting with the people of Detroit. The general public, especially of the younger age group seemed to really enjoy the presence of mechanoid aliens roughly five times their size. It had been fun.

Prowl was driving slower than usual, opting to follow the pace of his comrades, heading to their headquarters back together. It wasn’t till he could actually hear the rev of Optimus’ engine right next to him did he realize that the Prime was in fact, going faster.

Optimus was alarmingly close to him, and when their fields brushed against each other, Prowl caught a sense something mischievous and playful. So Optimus wanted to play. Who was he to deny that?

Revving his own engines, he sped up, swerving in front of the truck to zoom forward. As he predicted, Optimus followed suit, driving at an almost ridiculous speed considering the type of vehicle he was. The roads were thankfully empty, and soon enough Prowl and Optimus had left the rest of the crew in the dust, caught up in their little game.

Prowl openly laughed in delight as Optimus kept on trying to cut in Prowl’s lane, haphazardly edging sideways to do so, but Prowl gave him no opening.

They eventually reached their destination, and transformed almost simultaneously, laughing away from the rush of racing. Prowl turned around with a big grin, visor bright from excitement, “I win!”

Optimus scoffed but walked closer to Prowl, playfully punching his shoulder, “You only won because I let you. I couldn’t go past the speed limit.”

“Excuses,” Prowl taunted, chuckling, and Optimus laughed as well, lip components stretched wide in his own smile. At some point, he had slid an arm around Prowl’s waist, pulling the mech close, and it wasn’t until their fronts bumped against one another did Prowl realize that it was happening.

“I’ll win someday, fair and square,” Optimus smirked, “Then we’ll hear  _your_ excuses, Prowl.”

Prowl’s optics were wide behind his visor, surprised once again at how Prime was touching him. This was…

There was the noise of multiple engines and tires approaching, and Optimus let Prowl go, sliding back as if they hadn’t been close enough to kiss. Bumblebee transformed and yelled something with aggravation, and Optimus’ attention was directed elsewhere for a moment.

Prowl was still reeling. And from the way his spark was wildly spinning in his chest, this newfound development wasn’t a bad thing at all.

//

The intimate touches had started out of nowhere. Little, not very subtle touches to his frame, somehow full of intention. Of the more than friendly kind.

Optimus had always been physical with his companions, ranging from pats on the back to hugging, and Prowl had considered the possibility of overthinking things, but he knew there was something a little different in how Optimus touched him recently.

Prowl wanted to do something about it. He wanted to do something about it  _badly_ , but he wasn’t quite sure what exactly should be done. How did one react to physical hints? He was good at many things, but social cues weren’t exactly his niche.

They were all sitting in the biggest space in their headquarters, listening to Sari tell a story, her arms gesticulating with enthusiasm, voice loud with gusto. Something about one of Professor Sumdac’s creations, one created long ago and wasn’t in the market anymore, one of the first things she understood when it came to robotics.

It was endearing, watching her recalling past memories, and Prowl loved listening to her but he was also sitting next to Optimus, and their fields were mingling with each other. Prowl made an effort to hide his slight anxiety, mostly stemmed from his continuous thoughts about Optimus and recent events, but Optimus’ was open with fondness and camaraderie, amused with Sari’s antics.

Prowl couldn’t help it.

He inched his hand closer, fingers moving subtly, towards the Prime’s own. Things could go south. He could be wrong.

Optimus glanced at him and Prowl glanced back, thankful that his visor shielded how he had been looking at Optimus from even before Sari started her story. Optimus smiled, and Prowl made a decision.

His hand closed over Optimus’, fingers fitting in the open spaces between the Prime’s own, and Prowl felt the ripple of surprise through Optimus’ field. Blue optics dropped down to look at their touching hands, and then back up again, at Prowl’s face.

The pink hue that gradually stained Optimus’ faceplates made Prowl smile a little nervously. But Optimus shifted his hand under Prowl’s, turning his palm upwards, just so he could lace their fingers properly together. He squeezed gray fingers gently, a confirmation.

Prowl really couldn’t help it. He surged forward and the next thing he knew was that Optimus’ lip components were parting against his own, and there was no way he was ever going to let go of the hand he was holding.

Someone cleared their vocalizer loud enough to startle them, however, and both Prowl and Optimus looked to the side with bright optics, organic deers caught in the headlights.

Everyone in the room was looking at them, Sari, Bumblebee and Bulkhead with equal grins, while Ratchet rolled his eyes with exaggeration before saying aloud, “ _Finally_.”


	51. vos/kaon; gore+torture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mtmte 34 spoilers!! sort of voyeurism. also MAJOR character death i’m sorry if you know who i’m talking about and you’re upset about what happened, please please don’t read this. 
> 
> this is v sloppy writing i just needed to get it out of my system. a lot of inconsistencies. apparently kaon is supermech and probably understand Primal Vernacular what am i even doing. im not good at gore! idk im terrible

“So,” Kaon tilted his head, blank optics fixed on his colleague, his smile full of promise, “Where should I start, Vos?”

 

Vos’ palms were flat against the outer wall of the forcefield, his chest pressed over it, as if trying to push his way through, “ _I wish I was in there with you, Kaon._ Primussss,  _I want to—his legs. His legs, please.”_  A hand dropped down to rub at his own limb, informing Kaon.

Trailcutter’s unconscious frame dropped heavily onto the floor, and Kaon straddled him, making sure Vos could see most of everything. He dug his fingers into the join of Trailcutter’s left leg and hip, gripped hard, and  _wrenched_ the limb away. Cables snapped, energon sprayed and Trailcutter was jolted awake with a scream, the pain forcing him online again.

Kaon caressed the Autobot’s face with his free hand, as if taming a wild animal, his grip on the detached limb hard enough to dent the grayish plating. He let it go to touch the bleeding mess in Trailcutter’s hip, tangling his fingers in the cables, and tugged at them harshly.

Outside, Vos fell to his knees. He moaned, restless, digits scrabbling at the forcefield, “Kaon.  _Kaon. I want to see you drenched in him.”_

The electric chair giggled, mostly at the desire in Vos’ tone, shifting his frame in an almost coy fashion. His bloodied hand lifted to his chest, and he arched, smearing the fluids over his plating.

The whine Vos let out was pathetic. Trailcutter had been reduced to pained sobbing, weak from his initial lack of fuel and the continuous bleeding from where his leg was.

“ _Do that thing you do, Kaon,”_ Vos ran his hands down his front, shaky, “ _And shut him up.”_

“Anything for you, Vos,” hummed Kaon. Silencing a victim required force to the vocalizer, so Kaon scooted up Trailcutter’s frame to reach his neck. Almost delicately, he curled his fingers over the cables and ripped out Trailcutter’s throat altogether, flimsy oral tubing flopping uselessly in his grip. The sobbing stopped.

Kaon tossed the innards aside. He pulled his arm back and punched Trailcutter right in the chest, hard, the plating of his victim’s frame buckling under the force. Having sufficiently weakened the metal, Kaon used both hands to pry the metal upwards, peeling off Trailcutter’s plating.

It was easy work, though messy and incredibly enjoyable, and was also apparently a sight to behold as well. Vos was beside himself with admiration, every jolt of Trailcutter’s frame serving to excite him further.

Kaon decided to give Vos a show. There was nothing better than a charged up Vos after a mission. So he got to it, pulling off limbs and ripping out the components of his newest plaything, making as much of a mess as possible.

It wasn’t long till Trailcutter was nothing but dismembered parts and energon stains, and Kaon had saved the best for last. Carefully, almost daintily, he removed the Autobot’s head from its frame, assuring that the spinal strut was perfectly attached. Vos loved his work meticulous, and Kaon wanted to make Vos happy.

He stood up to be closer to the wall, closer to Vos. Vos rose with a desperation in his movements, scratching at the forcefield again, so terribly needy for Kaon.

Kaon smiled, lifting the head, before slamming it against the forcefield. The metal gave way and he tore  it away for the brain module, and Vos positively whimpered.

“Shame Helex isn’t here. He would have had fun with this.”

“ _We’ll show him,”_  Vos purred, pushing his face against the wall, squirming in ecstasy, “ _We’ll show everyone. Show them how gorgeous you are right now.”_

Kaon’s laughter was airy, delighted at Vos’ comment, and he rolled Trailcutter’s brain module in his hand, electric coils sparking up in his eagerness, “Mm. Okay. Now,” he leaned closer to the forcefield, close enough Vos could imagine feeling the heat of his frame, “Tell me what to  _do_ , Vos.”


	52. drift/perceptor; master|slave AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a request from fulcrumisthebomb on tumblr, and terribly short. i've never written perceptor before, truly.

"Did I please you, sir?"  Drift looked up, faceplates arranged into something curious yet pleasant, "Did I do good?"

Perceptor glanced down, appraising the fine work Drift had done on his polish, his frame gleaming luxuriously. He reached out, fingers patting one of his slave’s finials, a reward, “You did very good. Such a good servant.”

The mech on his knees practically melted into Perceptor’s touch, pushing his head gently up for more contact, blue optics gone dim with pleasure. His rumbling engine sent vibrations up Perceptor’s leg, and his expression morphed, suddenly cheeky, “Am I the best servant in the world?”

Perceptor laughed, smiling fondly at his slave’s antic. Praising Drift always made the mech irrationally happy, “Indeed you are, Drift.” The scientist hummed, fingers dropping from Drift’s helm to lightly push his thumb against his servant’s lip components, “You’re priceless.”


	53. blurr/rodimus(TFA); College AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> request from mercurymaplekey on tumblr! this got long-ish, and it's ridiculous hahahh i'm sorry

Blurr was like a slab of concrete, there was no physical way to move him at the moment. Not that Rodimus wasn’t trying, gripping at the mech’s shoulders and trying really hard to pull him backwards, but to no avail. 

 

"Dude, come on," he huffed in frustration, tugging with all his might, "Just  _trust me_.”

"Actually, no, Rodimus, I don’t trust you. You said we were going to study and here I was thinking that we’d be heading to the library because that’s where rational people go for educational purposes but you dragged me out here, and this is  _stupid_ , and I don’t trust you at all.”

In a fit of annoyance, Rodimus smacked Blurr’s shoulder once before scooting forward, sliding his hands forward to not so subtly grope at the mech’s front, “Your lack of creativity is amazing. Do you literally only eat in a kitchen? Do you never sleep anywhere else if it’s not a bed? Is that the only place you have sex in? Which is totally a lie, I should know—oof!” 

Blurr had shoved his shoulder back, straight into Rodimus’ gut, and it took a while for the mech to stop whining about how much it hurt. But Rodimus started tugging at Blurr again, albeit far more gently than before, “You brought your books, right? What’s the big deal, then? Read something, here,” he shamelessly dug his hand into Blurr’s bag, pulling out a book, “Oh yay, Physics 101. Fun! And for the love of Primus, lay back. Pretty please?”

The scoff Blurr let out at the request was impressive, but he took the book from Rodimus’ hand, and opened it. Slowly but surely, his posture went lax, and he went down with Rodimus’ pulling, shifting so his head rested against the mech’s chest, his legs extended on the grassy bank they were sitting on.

The sun was shining and it was a fairly beautiful day, and Blurr studied while Rodimus messed around with the lines and curves of Blurr’s head. It was almost nice. 

Till Cliffjumper and Mirage and Hot Shot and basically everyone they knew returned from their morning class and caught sight of the two of them, Blurr’s head in Rodimus’ lap, sitting on the ground beside the lake, much like those sickly sweet couples every college seemed to have. 

Blurr stormed off at the first faint sounds of faraway, escalating laughter, not before socking Rodimus in the face. All Rodimus did was turn around to face their colleagues with a huge grin on his faceplates, gave them a thumbs up and a quick middle finger, before rushing off to catch up to his boyfriend. 


	54. prowl, bumblebee, optimus prime (TFA); cheating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i asked around for pairings because i had the urge to write about infidelity, and tumblr user hamfootsia asked for Prowl/Bee and Prowl/Optimus. its a character cheating on an established partner, just to be clear! also slight angst here  
>  ~~i have such a fascination for the concept despite it hurting me sometimes, but well~~

Mornings were Prowl’s favourite, he loved the Earth’s sunlight heating up his face, loved the melodious chirps of the birds, loved the weight shifting in his arms as he slowly roused from sleep. Bumblebee was a fidgety recharge partner, even now he was pushing his face against Prowl’s chest, a horn scraping against Prowl’s chin, making Bee jerk all over again. Prowl smiled as always, ever amused with the minibot’s antics.

It wasn’t until later that the guilt settled in.

Bumblebee chose to online his optics then, the timing impeccable, probably sensing Prowl’s mood change. “Good morning,” Prowl murmured, his hands on Bumblebee’s aft sliding up to rest on his hips instead, tracing the metal gently.

They didn’t need words aside from that; Prowl surely didn’t want any; but Bee had never known when to keep quiet.

“Morning. Primus,” the mini stretched, front pressed up against Prowl’s pleasantly, “I think something dropped on me in the night. You really shouldn’t sleep under this sky, y’know. As fun as it is to frag under the stars.”

Prowl’s expression clouded, before he pinched Bee’s waist in retaliation, making the minibot yelp, “If you would actually get up after that and  _not_ insist on staying where we are, maybe things wouldn’t be falling onto you in your sleep. I’m betting it’s bird excretions.”

“Gross!” Bumblebee smacked his shoulder, twisting his faceplates in exaggeration, pretending to gag. That made Prowl laugh, and Bee eventually followed suit, their foreheads pressed together in their shared mirth.

Mornings were really nice.

Bumblebee had dipped his head to kiss the side of Prowl’s mouth, and Prowl spent some time tracing circles over Bee’s plating, but it had to end. He sat up, wearing a tired smile, “I have to go.”

Bee rolled off him without question, “Yeah. Bye, Prowl.”

“Goodbye.”

He stood up then, stalked off without looking back at his lover, it was routine. Morning energon, then meditation as the rest of the crew woke up. Namely Ratchet and Bulkhead, because Optimus was always awake at this time of the day, waiting for him.

The Prime was at their makeshift dining area, smile as sunny as always, “Good morning, Prowl.”

Guilt was heavy and roiling in his spark, but it was difficult not to return that smile, “Good morning.”

Optimus handed him a cube, and Prowl took it, sipping at his rations. His hands were caught once he set it down again, and Optimus moved in close, slowly leaning down for a kiss. Slowly, so Prowl would see it coming, asking him for permission beforehand. Optimus being as tender as always,  as kind as always, as oblivious as always.

They kissed and Prowl dimmed his optics, focused only on the gentle pressure on his lip components, and he _loves_ Optimus, he does, but sometimes he couldn’t—.

“Oh my god, get a room!”

They parted in surprised, turning to see Bumblebee grinning at the table, his own energon in his hands. Optimus’ face brightened up in delight, but only Prowl saw how tightly Bee was gripping his cube.

“You’re up really early, Bumblebee. That’s great!”

Bee snickered, shrugging at his Prime, “Couldn’t recharge last night, I stayed up playing games. Don’t think I’m gonna do this again, only weird mechs wake up this early. No offense.”

Optimus laughed, and took his seat next to Bumblebee as they engaged in banter, and Prowl didn’t move from where he was. He reached for his cube and drank it slowly, not really focusing on anything. Optimus’ lips on his was a ghost of a sensation, as was Bumblebee’s frame draped over him, and Prowl dismissed those, he dismissed the laughter and voices of his lovers, fixated on nothing but the taste of energon on his glossa.

It was easier that way.


	55. starscream, skyfire; cheating [NSFW]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another pairing requested for the infidelity idea by tumblr user mercurymaplekey. it's my otp! with some unnamed stranger (i slipped in the name of my favorite TFOC, redseeker's Vault, but it's merely a name here) and this is super angsty bc OTP. i'm not sure what happened here, either. i'm pretty sorry.

“Fragging Pit, Seeker, you’re drivin’ me nuts—“ the large grounder bucked his hips, trying to surge up for a kiss, for anything at all, but Starscream shoved him down again and slapped him hard, the blue of his hands chipping away at the impact.

“Shut up.”

The mech’s optics flared in excitement and heightened arousal, probably, but Starscream couldn’t care less. What was important to him was the slide of the huge spike inside of him, the large fingers gripping at his aft hard enough to dent.  He rode the stranger, violent as a storm, wings arching up high as he came, head thrown back in the rush of pleasure.

A quick frag, nothing more and nothing less. Tension seeped out of his joints like they’ve melted, but his thoughts were fiery and passionate still, and he left without a word.

//

He didn’t bother cleaning up.

Vault, Bolt, whatever his name was, didn’t come in him, he didn’t allow that. His cockpit had traces of transfluid still though, despite the stranger’s admirable efforts of licking it away, but there was no reason Starscream should get rid of the evidence of interfacing. He was young, and he had his pleasures, and Starscream would always prefer taking than giving.

Skyfire’s expression didn’t change the slightest when Starscream strode in their shared quarters, the dents on his aft showcased in all their glory, the transfers of black paint on the insides of his thighs an unsubtle statement.

Starscream stopped in front of the standing shuttle, arms akimbo, his red optics smug and harsh at the same time, “What are you looking at?”

“Energon,” Skyfire replied simply, lifting a hand to wipe at Starscream’s lip; it seemed to have sliced open at a particularly hard bite; and the white of his plating stained pink. Starscream had flinched at the touch, and regretted it.

He snarled, lashing out, “I’m fragging everyone but you now!”

Skyfire nodded, “I see.”

“You’re never going to have me. I won’t give in to you.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“I don’t even  _like_ you.”

The smile that graced Skyfire’s faceplates was indescribably sad, and Starscream felt his spark shatter.

“Perhaps. You did, once, though.”

“And I was a fool for ever feeling that way. You’re worthless. You mean nothing to me.”

“You know I cannot say the same.”

“But you should!” Starscream spat out, his words both harsh and desperate, “Look at me! I don’t want you anymore. I’ve got better things going for me, you’ll just bring me down, you should feel  _nothing_ —“

“But I do,” Skyfire interjected. Starscream hated mechs cutting him off, but that didn’t really matter right now, “I feel so much when it comes to you. It’s not voluntary, I didn’t do this to myself, but it happens, and I don’t regret it.” He shrugged slightly, sad smile still in place, “ I guess that makes me an idiot, doesn’t it?”

Starscream opened his mouth to agree, to insult Skyfire, but nothing escaped him.


	56. jetfire/jetstorm (TFA); proximity pains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quite suggestive!!! in which the jettwins dont know shame and propriety, jazz is v amused, and sentinel needs to do something he doesnt know how. being patient. haha this doesnt even make sense phfhd. i wrote this during finals. i still don't know how to write the jettwins i'm sorry

This was going too far.

"Brother," Jetfire had reached for Jetstorm,  _again,_ fingers skittering over Jetstorm’s side, “Come here.”

"You be lonely again, brother?" Jetstorm chuckled, and the tone of his voice was definitely inappropriate, much less was how he had arched his body into Jetfire’s touch. He slipped out of his seat and dropped to his knees, engines revving audibly as Jetfire pulled him up halfway, cradling his face in a tender hold. 

They kissed; at one point Jetstorm shifted on the floor with a scraping sound and  _moaned;_ and Jazz had to look away.

"Primus  _frag_ it, they’re doing it again?!” 

Jazz gave Sentinel Prime a little sheepish smile, and shrugged. The Prime strode over, disapproval and anger clouding his features. And under all the frowning, was an almost imperceptible blush.

The Jettwins saw it. 

"How many times do I need to tell you useless, rusty sprockets that you keep this to the confines of your quarters?! You’re on duty, act like it! Don’t make me put you two in the brig. Separately."

"But Prime, sir," Jetfire panted, yellow optics gone bright, his head tilted back as Jetstorm did something fairly interesting involving his teeth and Jetfire’s neck cables, "We  _need_ to be touching. Spark burns so hot if we go without touching for too long. We don’t want spark to be melting right through chestplates!”

Which was a load of scrapmetal, Sentinel was sure, but Jetstorm was looking up from Jetfire’s neck and his mouth was messy with oral solvent, the liquid stringing in between his lip components. His tongue darted out to lick it away and Sentinel was really…

"Enough! Get out of my sight. 5 joors of cleaning duty, non-stop, or I  _will_ kick you into the brig. GO.”

//

The worst thing about all of this that it would be bad for morale if Sentinel were to really separate Jetfire and Jetstorm. There was such a thing called proximity pains, as Perceptor had informed them previously, and distance wasn’t kind to spark twins, especially ones who were as close as these two were.

It didn’t help.

About two joors in their supposed cleaning duty, Sentinel walked down the halls of the ship to find Jetstorm dipping Jetfire back in a parody of a dance, practically fragging Jetfire’s mouth with his tongue. Jetfire was squirming in bliss, clinging onto Jetstorm with one arm and gripping at a mop in the other for balance, their legs locked in an intricate tangle. 

A breathy groan left one of them and Sentinel felt an internal energon line burst in his frustration. He banged a fist against a wall, loudly, and his two subordinates jumped in surprise, looking at him with bright optics. They didn’t move away from each other, unfortunately. 

"What did I just tell you earlier?’

"To not be touching in public, sir," Jetstorm said slowly, looking a little guilty, but not as much as he should be, "We are being sorry. We will be trying to…stop?" Jetfire still had a hand over Jetstorm’s shoulder, and it was sliding along the mech’s frame, ever downwards.

"That’s it," Sentinel grated out, "To the brig. Don’t come out till I tell you to." The twins froze, suddenly shocked, and Sentinel cursed himself for speaking up again, "In  _one_ cell, whatever, just stay in there till you’ve gotten this out of your systems. And not an astrosecond before.”

"Yes, sir!" Suddenly they were overly obedient soldiers, standing up straight to attention, at the ready. Their similar smiles bared too much teeth however, and there was no mistaking the sly look they exchanged with each other. 

Sentinel was about to leave when Jetfire reset his vocalizer audibly, “Sir? We will be staying in the brig for a while. You know where to be finding us if you need…help. Thank you, Prime, sir!” And they left quickly, laughing a little with their hands laced together, undoubtedly to continue what they were doing before Sentinel rudely interrupted.

The heat rushing to Sentinel’s face was impressive, and so was his scowl. The things he had to deal with were unbelievable, sometimes.


	57. skyfire/starscream; parties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for tumblr user flutterbyesandpollywogs for the secret santa tformersgiftexchange. ain't so secret now i posted it here but i have a thing about archiving. college days, cheesy, mindless fluff. 
> 
> Mentions of drinking! I have never been to a party with college kids before, and I think it shows, so apologies.

It wasn’t often that Starscream initiated any form of physical contact in public, but today seemed to be an exception.

Fingers brushed the tips of Skyfire’s own, and Starscream slipped his hand easily into his partner’s, squeezing a little. It was oddly affectionate, but Starscream’s consequent tone proved otherwise.

“This is all your fault,” he hissed, “Look at all these  _grounders_ , Skyfire.”

They were lucky that there was no one who heard Starscream’s quaint comment, despite the throng of mechanisms before them, drinking and chatting, the music loud enough to rattle plating. The party was in full swing, apparently. They had arrived quite late due to Starscream’s insistence of not going earlier, but grudgingly agreed after some strategic persuasion on Skyfire’s behalf.

Now, however, it seemed like Skyfire wasn’t going to be on Starscream’s good side for a while.

“We were invited, remember?” Skyfire spoke quietly, glancing away from an especially rowdy group of mechs, “We don’t have to be here for long. Just show our faces, meet the host and we can leave if you want to.” Truthfully, the atmosphere was a little too loud for his tastes, there weren’t many familiar mechs at all, and the strangers seemed to be getting progressively overcharged.

Starscream’s grip on his hand became almost painful, and he looked at the Seeker to find Starscream glaring at him, “Fine. Don’t you dare stray away from me under any circumstance. Because you have my word that I’ll be leaving right away if you go missing. Without you.”

Skyfire nodded, certain that Starscream would do exactly what he had said if it came to that. He was very aware of the weight of Starscream’s hand in his though, it was a bright existence his processor, he wouldn’t be forgetting Starscream’s presence even if he tried. Not that he could ever forget such a mech, of course.

They ventured further into the lodgings, past the socializing students, taking great care to lift their wings high up so no one would bump into them. A table full of energon treats was in a corner of the space, and Starscream steadily pulled Skyfire towards it. He seemed to light up with enthusiasm once they found the food.

“At least they’re decent enough to serve high grade,” Starscream mumbled, letting go of Skyfire’s hand momentarily to grab himself a sealed cube. Skyfire took one as well, daintily pulling the cover off before sipping at the energon. It went down like liquid fire.

“Oh wow, strong stuff,” he spluttered, and watched Starscream knock the entire cube back in rising concern, “Are you planning on getting overcharged, Starscream?”

His partner made a face, his optics recalibrating at how potent the energon was, but set the empty cube down on the table. His hand reached for Skyfire’s soon enough, “No. I’ve got plans after this.  _If_ we get out of here reasonably early, of course, so let’s find your fragging friend.”

Skyfire found himself being led away again, and he gripped at his full cube so it didn’t spill over as Starscream threaded through the crowd with him in tow. It was quite a scene. Parties weren’t something Skyfire disliked, but ever since entering the Academy, he hadn’t been to any. This was his first.

Starscream, on the other hand, did enjoy a good social event now and then, but the notion seemed unwelcome to him on this particular day. Skyfire didn’t mind, of course, he felt no loss just ditching the party altogether to return to the dormitory buildings. Hopefully Starscream would choose to spend the rest of the night in his quarters. Or the other way around, it didn’t matter.

He was snapped out of his reverie by a whoop, turning around to see his friend, Wireburst, waving wildly in his direction. Skyfire stopped walking, and Starscream was rudely halted, “What—“

“Skyfire!” Wireburst grinned once he reached the duo, his door wings flicking in excitement, and probably inebriation, “You’re here. Good good. Hey, Starscream, what’s up?”

The irritation in Starscream’s field flared in reply, and Wireburst merely snickered, “Yeah, okay, anyway. Good timing, mechs! We’re gonna start a game soon enough, and you guys gotta join us.”

“A game? I apologize, Wireburst , but Starscream and I thought we’d just—“

“’Have You Ever’, first. There’s gonna be a bunch of us,  _come on._  Then it’s probably ‘Spin The Rod’, and ‘Truth or Dare’, and ‘Seven Breems in the All-Sparks Well’, it’s going to be _phenomenal_ , trust me.”

The grip on Skyfire’s hand tightened so drastically, Skyfire thought his finger joints were going to buckle from the pressure.

//

The dormitory buildings were quiet, most of the students out and about, away from the Academy grounds. Quiet enough to be unsettling, but it didn’t bother Skyfire. Not when he had company.

His company wasn’t too amiable, however. Starscream had disappeared into Skyfire’s washracks almost immediately after their return from the party, and refused to allow Skyfire in to clean himself up as well. Skyfire didn’t mind that, not too much. Instead, Skyfire took his seat at his desk to read a datapad while he waited patiently, quite engrossed in his reading material.

It was one of their joint study days, too, which was why Starscream had been so irritated by Skyfire’s insistence that they accept Wireburst’s invitation instead of going through their previous lessons. It wasn’t so much that Starscream was antisocial rather than him having an aversion to a sudden change of plans. Skyfire would admit that he was at fault, here.

Starscream exited the washracks soon enough but still didn’t say a word. Skyfire sighed quietly, but placed his datapad down to finally enter the unoccupied washracks, making a mental note to fix things with Starscream as soon as he had cleaned his plating from the dust and debris from their earlier flight.

It was a surprise that Starscream was sitting in Skyfire’s previous seat at the desk when the shuttle returned. He had picked up Skyfire’s datapad,  glasses perched on his nasal ridge, and seemed to be intensely reading the journal. Perhaps they would be studying nevertheless.

Skyfire had moved to pull another chair when Starscream stood up quickly, looking up at his partner. He seemed somewhat expectant so Skyfire abandoned the idea of retrieving another chair, opting to approach his desk and sit in the vacated seat instead. It was his turn to peer up at Starscream, curious.

The jet simply sidled in between the desk and Skyfire, reaching to grip at Skyfire’s shoulder, hauling himself up. Skyfire’s arms went around him in an instant, pulling Starscream close as he almost gracefully plopped in Skyfire’s lap. There was much shifting before Starscream deemed himself comfortable enough, helm resting on Skyfire’s arm, legs drawn up and bent at the knees, feet perched on Skyfire’s thigh. One of his wings was tucked under the edge of Skyfire’s own. Starscream held the datapad to his face again, and resumed reading.

He had only done this one other time before, and it was on Skyfire’s list of favourite things in the universe. He couldn’t quite help the goofy smile on his faceplates, dipping his head to nuzzle the top of Starscream’s, his partner nestled safely in his arms.

“I apologize for making you come with me earlier, Starscream,” he murmured quietly still, absently tapping at the plating of Starscream’s leg, “But I was thinking of being polite, mostly. Are you mad at me?”

Starscream glanced up, his optics casting a red glow over his dark frames, “A little.  But the high grade was good, and we got to fly. And we watched a lot of grounders making fools of themselves, that was fun.”

Skyfire chuckled a little at the memory of what had happened shortly before they left. Starscream’s apathetic expression sharpened into a smirk, and he scoffed, “I still can’t believe Roadcrest tried to outdrink you. Did they conveniently forget that you’re a shuttle? What an idiot.”

“I do hope they’re alright, though,” Skyfire replied, despite the little smile curving his own lip components, “They didn’t look too well at the end of that contest.”

Red optics rolled in exaggeration, but Starscream pressed the side of his face lightly against Skyfire’s chest, “You drank them under the table. Congratulations, by the way. Today wasn’t a total loss.”

That made Skyfire laugh again, and Starscream smiled one of his genuine smiles, his optics dim with fondness, his features soft, and Skyfire couldn’t help himself. Gently extracting one of his arms from around Starscream; the Seeker’s legs crossed, apparently undisturbed; Skyfire reached up to touch Starscream’s glasses, asking for permission, “May I?”

Starscream watched him and bowed his head, “You may.”

With the glasses out of the way, safe in between Skyfire’s fingers, he leaned down to press his lip components onto Starscream’s in a tender kiss. Starscream’s optics flickered offline, head tilting up to deepen their contact. They kissed, just languorously tracing each other’s mouths, and Starscream eventually retreated with a content smile, his optics coming to life in a hazy red.

Skyfire could spend the entire night cycle kissing Starscream like this, holding him, but Starscream plucked his glasses from Skyfire’s hand easily, placing them on the desk, “Skyfire?”

“Hm?”

“Shut up. I’m going to recharge.”

“If you say so. I’m going to study, okay?” he wrapped his arms around his Seeker again, grabbing a datapad to switch it on. Starscream grunted an affirmative, shifting in Skyfire’s hold to press himself against Skyfire’s front, unabashedly sliding fingers in between the slats of a pectoral vent. Skyfire simply smiled. He cherished days like these, they weren’t very common. It had an almost domestic feel to it, what with Starscream’s weight in his lap, the quiet of their surroundings turned serene. He’d spend his entire life just being in this exact moment.

“…On second thought,” Starscream suddenly murmured, looking up at Skyfire, his fingers in Skyfire’s vent curling a little, “Tell me about Lightrift’s theory of energy deposition in reactive intermediates.”

Skyfire wasn’t quite expecting that, “Oh? Alright, but didn’t we cover that last week?”

“We did. I just want to hear you say ‘spontaneous fragmentation’ a lot.”

The laughter that bubbled out of Skyfire was amusement and disbelief combined, and he was still snickering when Starscream made a disapproving noise, roughly pushing his head against Skyfire’s arm in protest. It wasn’t enough to hide his growing smile though, but Skyfire pretended to not see it. Starscream wouldn’t appreciate his teasing, despite their good moods.

But a while after he delved into Lightrift’s theory, there was a faint sensation; a ghost of a kiss to his chest almost; where Starscream had his face pressed up against. And it was more than enough.


	58. sentinel prime (TFA), masturbation [NSFW]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sentinel jacking it to elita. who is optimus’ girlfriend, in this. 
> 
> the whole ‘falling for your best friend’s partner’ thing came to me and well. sentinel’s gross (somewhat). i’m gross (definitely). this is also experimental, i’m messing around w writing styles and tenses. i dont know. also there’s a lot of cursing in this. i’m a little sorry. just a little.

He tries to keep himself silent when he does this, even if no one would hear him, simply because he’s already intensely hating himself and he doesn’t need more reminders of what a sick fuck he is.

And he can’t, he honestly can’t stop thinking about her, about the dulcet tones of her voice when they discuss their respective missions, about how cool her plating feels when she playfully punches his shoulder in a reprimand to a something crass he’d say. He likes her so  _much,_ he wants to envelop her in his arms and contain her; wants her to be a part of him, bright and burning. 

His vents exhaled as shimmers of heat, hand jerking furiously at himself like some sort of punishment, his optics offline because if he opens them, reality would come crashing down and he’d realize how fucking sick he is, self-servicing to one of his best friends, to his other best friend’s  _girlfriend_ and—

A moan bubbles out of him, desperation and disgust mingling, and he’s so close. He’s thinking of Elita spread out under him and looking at him the way she looks at Optimus sometimes, all adoration and desire and respect, and it’s not fair, it’s not fucking fair how it’s  _always_ Optimus, why wouldn’t she look at him that way?

She’s writhing in his mind, frame twisting in pleasure from what he’s doing to her, and her voice gasping his name in the throes of passion proves to be too much, and it doesn’t matter if he’s making everything up because he’s coming and he’s coming hard, transfluid spurting all over his hand and his thighs at the imagery.

Primus. How pathetic. 

He activates his visual field again to stare hard at the ceiling of his habsuite, grounding himself to reality. It does not matter that at the peak of his imagination, he saw  _both_ Elita and Optimus sharing pleasure with him, because that’s a whole other level of sick, and he’d rather not acknowledge it. 

He’d meet up with them again tomorrow, laugh and joke around as usual, and spend another day hiding how repulsive he really is.


	59. swindle/megatron; business transactions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> V-bird gave me an idea in a comment and it'll be at the bottom of the story so the whole plot ain't spoiled or something, not that there's much of a plot plus i ran with the prompt and didnt follow it but. yes. i winged the science terms, they're from wikipedia though. i like em flirting with each other via webcams too much.

_no matter the consequences_  
 _what's good in being good?_  
 _so go ahead, feed me diamonds_  
 _do what you want to_  
 _feed me diamonds [[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cvbUSZt3YsM)]_

//

Purple optics bright with interest and admiration were truly sight to behold, Megatron noted, smiling slightly at Swindle’s awestruck expression. It didn’t matter that the glittery sheen to those optics had been dulled somewhat by the resolution of his monitor screen, they were still captivating. They would look a million times better in person, without a doubt.

“I cannot believe it,” Swindle couldn’t quite maintain the professional expression he always had, “That’s Flashstrike’s molecular beam epitaxy system! I have been looking through  _galaxies_ for it, it uses—“

“Rough kinetics as its main technique, yes. Physical rather than chemical. Very efficient and low-cost, of course.”

Swindle’s nodding was quite enthused, still marvelling over the device, “Where did you find it? It’s impossible to just have stumbled across it…” He tore his gaze away from it eventually, fixing Megatron with a cool stare, “A dealer?”

Megatron’s smile was just as seemingly serene, “I am a warlord, as you know. Of course mechs with good products would find a chance to offer it to me. They’re in good condition, too.”

Swindle’s consequent smile looked lethal, before it faltered, “Wait. ‘They’?”

“I acquired two.”

The shock on Swindle’s face was terribly endearing, his smile returning with full force and sincerity. He even took the time to cover his mouth with a hand, as if his excitement needed to be contained. His optics flicked down, away from both Megatron and the tempting sight of the rare device, and slowly slid back up again after a moment.

His current smile was easy, casual, having slipped back into his default state: a devious salesmech. It was Megatron’s favourite look on him.

“So, Megatron,” he leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs, lacing his fingers together only to place them on a yellow knee guard, “Let’s talk business. Are you willing to part with one of your acquisitions?”

“I might be. It wouldn’t do to just tease you with them if I hadn’t meant to sell one, now, would it?”

Swindle’s optics dimmed visibly, his casual smile widening, “Mm, I suppose not. You aren’t that cruel to me. Name your price.”

Megatron pretended to contemplate it, “20 million credits.”

There was a flash of triumph in the salesmech’s expression that was almost undetectable, but Megatron was quite adept at reading Swindle’s face by now, “15 million? For an old friend?”

“20 million is almost unreasonably low and you know it, Swindle. There’s one other fee as well, since I’m selling the system to you at such a low price.”

Swindle seemed wary, now, “Which is?”

Megatron smiled, leaning just a tad closer to the screen separating them, “Time.”

The warlord relished the few astroseconds of Swindle digesting what the request meant, the surprise on his faceplates, and the eventual sly smirk curving his lip components.

“Two cycles, exactly. 48 joors of you being present here, with me. In person.”

Megatron leaned back himself, letting his gaze linger, obviously appraising Swindle’s form displayed on his screen. The shiver that went through the jeep’s frame made him chuckle. One way or another, he was going to have the mech. They had been dancing around one another for far too long.

“Fair enough,” Swindle nodded after considering his options, “There will be some rules, of course. Safety measures. Fail-safes. Written agreements.”

“Of course, of course. I’ll forward the details to you soon for your scrutiny. You would be my guest, and I do intend that you feel comfortable on the Nemesis, at the least,” Megatron hummed, watching as Swindle lifted a hand to the side of his helm, apparently assessing his HUD.

“Ah, I’m afraid I wouldn’t have enough free time to deviate from my schedule for the 48 joors as a whole,” Swindle shook his head, shifting slightly in his seat, “Would it be alright if we broke it up into sessions? Six joors at a time?”

“Absolutely no problem with me. 8 ’sessions’ then, as you call it. You  _would_ have to make the trip back and forth. That wouldn’t be a problem?”

Swindle chuckled, optics sliding over Megatron’s frame in response, “Repeated encounters with my most favourite client to mix business and pleasure? It’s far from a problem. I’d call it stress relief.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the prompt was: "Swindle wants to buy something from Megatron, but Megatron won't give it up without payment....Swindle in his bed, or hand in marriage, you pick :D "


	60. optimus prime/starscream (SG);robogore [NSFW]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is **NONCON,** and robogore (of the teeth/mouth variety)
> 
> basically, i’m disgusting. i guess this is vent writing. idk, i wanted to do so much more to starscream but i kinda snapped out of it and read it over and rolled off the bed. maybe someday. im sorry.

“You are truly enchanting, pet,” Optimus crooned, rubbing a thumb over his captive’s bloodied lip components, smearing the pink around, “Magnificent.”

Starscream’s shaking was growing worse, his optics online but unseeing. It was a lovely sight for Optimus nevertheless, the constant movement making light shine off of the Seeker’s glossy painting. It seemed that Starscream had recently gone through a thorough polishing, just before Optimus finally caught his wayward Seeker. How fortunate.

His thumb slipped in between Starscream’s lips, probing. It met resistance at some point, having collided with a piece of unbroken denta a little deeper in the mech’s mouth. Starscream whimpered, shaking so hard his wings were rattling, and Optimus hummed in reply. “Now, now, darling. Quiet down.”

Optimus gently gripped Starscream’s jaw, almost lovingly, and pressed on the remnants of protruding metal in the flier’s mouth, exerting pressure. Starscream locked up, his begging only a multitude of desperate sounds that meant nothing, and Optimus pressed harder, the tooth cutting lightly into his thumb. Bound hands shot up to scrabble at his arms, fresh tears were dripping down Starscream’s face, and yet Optimus kept on going.

The denta broke clean off, ripping a chunk of the softer metal of Starscream’s oral lining. His screams were choked off by the energon that spilled down his throat, making him swallow, but it was music for Optimus still. He rubbed over the wound, making sure there were no stray chips of denta left, and sighed.

He cupped Starscream’s jaw once again as the mech’s hands grip on him loosened, defeated. Optimus’ panel retracted, his spike rising before Starscream’s face instantly; he had been aroused for a while now. Starscream’s optics offlined at the sight, and Optimus made a disapproving sound.

“Open,” he said quietly, nudging in a few fingers back into Starscream’s mouth, coaxing the flier to open his mouth wider. He pushed his spike in between Starscream’s lips, the entry slick and easy from all the energon, and Optimus purred, extremely pleased, “Look at me.”

Starscream did, eventually, the light in his blue optics fevered and flickering, and he didn’t close them again as Optimus started rocking into his mouth.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Optimus whispered, pushing in deep, making Starscream take it, “I have been dreaming of loving you this way.”

Starscream gagged, be it from disgust or from Optimus’ spike, or his own energon, but it felt divine. Optimus was going to love Starscream till the mech’s ember turned into dust.


	61. blurr/shockwave;death [NSFW]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **NONCON**  
>  another bout of unnecessary morbidity and supposedly dark themed experiments i dont know. im in this mood. this actually stemmed from an idea ive had months ago and i wrote like 2000 words of it but stopped. this is way weirder and shorter. basically things didnt go the way shockwave thought it would in this. ok goodbye

Something isn’t right.

Shockwave tilts his helm, trying to figure out exactly what is different this time. The flicker in Blurr’s lovely blue optics isn’t anything unusual, nor is the way he arches and gasps with every slide of Shockwave’s spike into his slight frame. His legs are spread wide, Shockwave’s hips forcing them apart. The only recent development is his responsiveness; Blurr had been almost apathetic before, staring into space as Shockwave took his pleasure, pleasured him in return.

But he enjoys it now, moaning and whimpering in that frantic, desperate way Shockwave loves. He overloads for Shockwave beautifully.

But something is different.

Blurr screams, thrashing as he comes, frame twisting in a very desirable fashion under Shockwave’s bulk. The larger mech pushes him down with a claw pressing on his chest, hips rolling just to see him cry out, struggling like an insect impaled alive. Blurr’s legs kick out uselessly, and his hands shoot up to clutch at Shockwave’s claw. The blast of his fans is a roar.

“S-Shockwave,” he exhales, voice scratchy and raw, “Shockwave.”

He tugs at Shockwave’s claw insistently, and Shockwave allows the motion, curious. Blurr let the claw rest over his small neck; so small it would snap with the slightest pressure, Shockwave’s sure; and bares his throat for his captor.

The mech’s frame is pliant now, having expelled the charge in his systems, and it’s perfect. Shockwave continues his earlier motion, fucks him again. Blurr whines.

His leg sensors are disabled, he could neither feel nor move anything past his knee joints, yet Blurr kicks still. His resilience knows no bounds, even broken and used.

Shockwave sighs. His pet is perfection.

His claw is still pressed up against Blurr’s neck, and the little mech strains against it, optics flickering once again.

“Shockwave. You love me. Y-you love me, don’t you? You told me you did.”

It is almost alarming how he didn’t hesitate to answer, “I do. I adore you,” he leans down to nuzzle at Blurr’s cheek, and Blurr mouths at the edge of his helm in response, “You’re mine, infinitely, and I love you.”

The answer seems to satisfy Blurr, and he bares his teeth in a smile, pushing up so hard against Shockwave’s claw, the Decepticon could feel the softer metal of his neck dent under the pressure.

“Then do it when you’re deep inside me, like this. I want it to be like this,” Blurr says in a rush, as if his thoughts are too much for him to endure. A hand falls down to where they are joined, brushing over Shockwave’s spike, the stretched lips of his valve, his abdomen, “I want you to be so deep in me I can feel you in my throat. Do it then, please.”

Something isn’t right. Shockwave leans closer, thrusts into Blurr harder, the light of his optic illuminating the face of his pet a bloody red, “Do what, Blurr?”

Blurr moans, optics blacking out in pleasure, “ _Kill me._ ”

His hips buck up, inadvertently taking more of Shockwave into himself, his words slurring together, “Slit my neck, cut me open, I don’t care. Crush my spark. I j-just want you to do it when you’re taking me again, just like this, do it when I’m feeling so good. S-Shockwave! Promise me.”

Something cracks and Blurr throws his head back in bliss, spitting static. His charge is accumulating again, and he gasps out, shaking all over, “ _Promise me._ ”

Shockwave doesn’t say a word.


	62. short tumblr drabbles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pairing+prompt drabbles i wrote for a few people on tumblr! multiple pairings and themes.

_Wasp/Ironhide;summer job at an amusement park Au_

 

He manned the tent with the metal U.F.Os and the multi-colored balls two weeks ago. Ironhide threw so many balls during his breaks that his right arm felt like it’d fall off any moment, and he won so many times, too, but not paying for the game meant that he wouldn’t get a prize, either. Wasp’s sharp smirk whenever Ironhide toppled a metal spaceship was reward enough, nevertheless.

Then Wasp switched to cotton candy duty, and he was so swamped with customers that Ironhide could go over less often; Ironhide was busy squirting condiments on hot dogs as well. But they’d swap food after their shifts, and Ironhide ate so much spun sugar he was almost sick.

But when Wasp tugged him down onto a boat at the Tunnel of Love just a little past midnight, before he had to shut everything down, and kissed him  _silly_ , Ironhide decided that it was damn well worth it.

* * *

  _Longarm/Blurr - stomach kissing_

 

The touch was so gentle, Longarm almost didn’t notice it, a feathery-light pressure along the seam of his chest. It trailed over his belly, down to his left hip, and back up to the curve of his stomach. Dentae scraped over his plating, so faint that it felt like a tease, and Longarm lifted his head to look at the mech draped over the lower half of his frame.

Blurr’s optics flicked up, his smile almost shy, a contradiction to how hard he had rode Longarm’s spike moments ago. He kissed Longarm’s stomach again, gaze locked onto his Prime’s visage. Longarm smiled, and Blurr took it as permission, dipping his head down to lavish affection onto the soft plating of Longarm’s middle.

His frame shifted sensuously, caught up in his own kisses. A blush was rising up to his faceplates, inevitable, adding to the heat of his plating even as he mouthed at Longarm’s stomach, hummed against it. 

He looked up at Longarm again eventually, his cheeks darkened while his eyes dimmed with adoration, and Longarm knew that he was hooked. 

All Longarm had to do was reel him in.

* * *

  _Cyclonus/Tailgate; trying to bond over hobbies they like_

 

"What? No," Cyclonus said suddenly, leaning in to contemplate Tailgate’s drawing, "That is  _not_ where Altihex is. It should be situated a little more to the left.”

Tailgate’s feet stopped kicking in the air, crossing instead as he propped the datapad more securely on his knees and considered Cyclonus’ words with a tilt of his helm, “Really? Isn’t it right next to Kalis?”

Cyclonus pulled back to stare at the minibot, as if he couldn’t believe that Tailgate had asked him such a question, “Not in the least. It’s here, upper border of Kalis, closer to the Rust Sea. Do you truly not remember?”

Tailgate’s visor narrowed, and he turned to Cyclonus just to brandish the pen he had been using, very displeased, “Hey. I was just online for two weeks, you can’t expect me to remember Cybertron’s geography perfectly.”

There was momentary silence before Cyclonus nodded, as apologetic as he could get, “Alright. I suppose I understand. But give me that datapad, Uraya is slightly misplaced, as well. I will show you.”

Tailgate ended up sitting in Cyclonus’ lap, the jetformer’s arms around his frame to map out Cybertron’s districts on the datapad, explaining all the while. It was a productive evening.

 

* * *

_ Chromedome/Rewind; 'I almost lost you' kiss _

 

Chromedome’s fingers on his face were trembling, barely there. His touch was almost reverent, and his visor pulsed a bright yellow, the light flickering from emotion. Rewind’s spark was swirling almost violently. But at the same time, he felt lost.

"Primus," Chromedome whispered, leaning down, inevitable. His voice shook, " _Rewind._ ”

Their faceplates collided gently and the exchanged static between the area of contact made Rewind offline his optics. This was familiar. Chromedome’s kisses were familiar, but also different. It didn’t feel quite right.

Chromedome didn’t seem to think the same. He kissed Rewind again and again, as if trying to ensure Rewind’s presence with the touch, making sure he was really there. “I love you,” he exhaled, overcome with emotion, “I love you so much.”

"I love—" Rewind started on impulse, but stopped himself. Chromedome didn’t notice, caught up in their reunion. 

He loved Chromedome. He truly loved Chromedome. His Chromedome, at least.

Were things still the same?


	63. fracture+airazor+divebomb; TFRiD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just. they were just so cute. my involvement in the new RiD had been leading up to this, tbh. this is short bc i had to get it out of my system and its CHEESY and fluffy as shit anyway uh. in the show the energon is blue, and sides cried yellow tears, so blue+yellow= green is the conclusion i made to what chyme would be like (fancy word for puke tbh) and this is out of character im sure but i can dream. let me dream.

"The coordinates are locked. Bridge’s ready for the jump, boss!" Divebomb swivelled from his post, grinning wide.

Fracture flashed the minicon his own sharp smirk, ” Good, good. Now all we gotta do is recharge and refuel, then we make the trip. This bounty’s gonna be mine.”  He chuckled to himself in absolute glee, and Divebomb followed suit, tickled by his master’s joy.

Airazor, however, remained uncharacteristically silent. It didn’t take long for Fracture to notice how his other minicon was deep in thought. He approached the little mech after glancing at Divebomb, who shrugged in confusion.

“‘Razor? What’s up?”

The minicon looked up at Fracture with wide optics, and shook his head with enthusiasm, “Nothing, Master! Everything’s fine.”

Fracture scoffed, “Yeah, and my paintjob is hot pink. Come on, what’s eating at ya?”

Airazor couldn’t help but snicker at the imagery, as did Divebomb, but sobered quickly as he spoke once more, ” We’ve been to a lot of planets, but not one teeming with sentient organic life forms like this one. I dunno, it feels like something bad’s gonna happen, Master.”

"Probably just you being nervous, Airazor," Divebomb piped up , "Y’know how you get really paranoid sometimes."

"Yeah, but—"

Fracture dismissed the words with a lift of his hand, and the two minicons stood to attention, going silent.

"It’ll be fine, Airazor. Even if scrap goes down, it won’t matter."

Airazor reset his optics and then shifted, unsure, “It won’t?”

"Nah. We’ll still be together. We can do anything, as long as we got each other, right? Whatever happens, it’ll be no big deal. Just stick with me."

Fracture patted his minicon’s head, and Airazor was beaming, sharp teeth all bared in his happiness. Fracture tapped the space in between his optics affectionately, and went back to the ship’s control panel.

"Uhh, Master?" Fracture glanced back to see Divebomb sheepishly pointing at his own head, "What about me?"

"Ha!" Airazor exclaimed, pointing at the other minicon, "You weren’t helpful at all! You called me paranoid. Boss, instead of you going hot pink, we oughta paint Divebomb green. Like gross, semi-processed energon green. Pleaaaase please please—"

"If I go green, you go green too, nerd!"

And then they were wrestling on the ship floor, yelling and giggling, and Fracture simply shook his head in amusement. His boys were lively.

"Cut it out, you two. Come on, back on me. Recharge and refuel, remember?"

The minicons disentangled themselves and elbowed each other a few more times, sharing sharp grins, before transforming to reattach to Fracture’s frame.

Fracture reached back to pat Divebomb anyway, noting the satisfied pulse from the minicon’s field afterwards, and hummed to himself.

This hunt was going to be a piece of cake, just like always.


	64. blurr+starscream (TFA); violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> starscream caught blurr! i miss tfa starscream, and i miss tfa blurr so i wrote about them. i honestly didnt mean for things to get this far. i just wanted starscream to be an asshole. i thought about this while walking for like 4kms and there was supposed to be a lot more trash talk but ive always been terrible at putting things into words but also here.

“You know what I’ve always noticed about speed racers?” Starscream mused, tapping his own chin with a finger, “You skitter.”

He shifted his stance, putting more pressure onto Blurr’s middle. The Autobot writhed, struggling hard to get away from the unforgiving weight of Starscream’s foot on his frame. Starscream was built heavy; armoured and large; and Blurr could feel his inner mechanisms creak, straining under the added mass. Blurr jerked, crying out in pain and rage. His frame scraped over the tar of the road, scratching off paint and metal.

“Yes, like that!” Starscream laughed in delight, as if Blurr was entertaining, “You skitter and you scurry, like an insect. You’re all over the place. And just as irrelevant. ”

Blurr’s feet were bound together with stasis cuffs. Not even the usual standard stasis cuffs the authorities used; these were an old model, huge, black gunmetal, secured tight over the fronts of his wheels. Blurr thrashed again, wildly attempting to spin his wheels but stopped immediately, sharp pain flaring up his sensory network.

The rubber of his tires would slough off, if he continued. He felt himself bleed.

Starscream leaned, pressing down even more, “Your design is supposed to be the pinnacle of ground-based altmodes. Which is hilarious, really. Grounders are just so  _ugly._ ”

“You’re not graceful. You’re not beautiful. The most you could be is functional and useful, and that’s about it. Like an appliance,” Starscream grinned, toeing the edge of Blurr’s back kibble, “And you’re a star, aren’t you? I’ve seen you around, Velocitron racer. I suppose that makes you king of the uglies. Are you proud? Do you feel powerful?”

He was leaning even more now, it felt like his entire weight was focused on that one foot resting on Blurr. His sides would split open if Starscream didn’t stop, Blurr knew it, and he couldn’t—

“Stop,” he croaked out, limbs flailing,  _panicking,_ “Stop stop stop stop  stopstopstopstopstopstopstop—!”

Starscream scoffed, “That wasn’t what I wanted to hear.”

He stepped down.


	65. skyfire/starscream, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> probably set during science academy days. literally nothing but fluff and kisses. extreme cheese. idk i wanted to take a break from the angst ive been writing. and im losing my touch at this too what the hell. its like a sexless version of languid, this one. im rambling. i wrote this for me but yes here, i am sorry, this is also probably so out of character its painful but well

_give me all your kisses baby, ‘cause this is bliss  
give me all your kisses, baby. [[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XhqOsAed3OE)]_

* * *

 

“Why are you so affectionate today?” Starscream queried, leaning back to meet Skyfire’s optics. 

His arms were around the shuttle’s neck, and Skyfire had wrapped his own around Starscream’s frame, the smaller mech settled in his lap. Skyfire was enthusiastically nuzzling Starscream’s face, his field rippling with contentment. He kissed Starscream’s cheek, pecking the plating a few times. His arms around Starscream tightened, “I am?”

Starscream scoffed, turning his face to the side, wings flicking at the physical contact, “You’re  _extremely_ affectionate today.”

Their fronts scraped with a slight screech as Skyfire pulled Starscream close, a hand lifting to guide the Seeker’s face back towards his own. He kissed Starscream’s lips and smiled against dark lip components, “Perhaps. Can I be extremely affectionate for a while?”

Red optics rolled, but Starscream nodded, and Skyfire kissed him again in gratitude. His fingers trailed down Starscream’s sides, the tips catching on ridges and seams and grooves. He leaned forward even more, tipping Starscream back to lie on the berth.

Wings fanned out underneath him, Starscream went along with Skyfire’s ministrations. The kisses were addictive, as Skyfire kept them brief and shallow, never indulging Starscream with anything deeper even as the Seeker kept parting his lips in invitation.

Starscream huffed, but Skyfire slid his hands up Starscream’s arms after pushing them to extend above Starscream’s head, and twined their fingers together. He bit playfully at Starscream’s chin, and received an indignant hiss in return. He was kneeling in between Starscream’s thighs, his partner’s feet scraping the back of his legs, forever shifting to gain more contact.

Skyfire had caged Starscream in with his frame, truly. Had boxed him in, pinned him down, and Starscream usually didn’t allow such a thing. But he was progressively turning into putty under Skyfire’s bulk, helplessly caught in the ever present kisses, in Skyfire’s soft touches.

They kissed languorously, and Skyfire could physically feel Starscream becoming pliant under him. He licked at Starscream’s top denta before pulling back only to have Starscream trying to follow him. Skyfire smiled and Starscream licked his own lip components, arms still effectively held down. Starscream fell back down in some form of resignation.

He was gorgeous. Frame on display and a sultry expression curving his faceplates, Starscream painted a lovely picture. He was splayed out exclusively for Skyfire, and seemed to be perfectly content where he was. He bit at his lower lip component, and let it go with an exhalation, trying to tempt Skyfire to resume their kissing. It worked like a charm.

Skyfire mouthed the upper curve of Starscream’s chest vent, trailing his way back up to the dark lips. Starscream’s field flared, suddenly moaning into their liplock. He seemed to be losing himself in the atmosphere, the way Skyfire was losing himself in Starscream.

There was nothing sexual about their touches, not now. Starscream’s hands in Skyfire’s clenched periodically, in time to the little vents he managed to steal, when Skyfire wasn’t wholly occupying his mouth. Their glossas slid and curled against each other, and then Starscream started laughing.

He shook with mirth under Skyfire, and the shuttle just had to lean back a little, curious. Starscream’s laughter was light and airy, genuine, and Skyfire was smiling too, unable to stop himself, “Star? What is it? What made you so happy?”

“Ahaha that’s–that’s exactly it!” Starscream grinned, laughing still, “I’m just so…” His teeth were bared in his exhilaration, and he wrested his hands from Skyfire’s grasp; Skyfire let him. He reached to grip at Skyfire’s face, almost breathless, “Shut up and kiss me again.”

And Skyfire did, but their lips didn’t quite meet from how they were smiling against each other’s mouths. It didn’t matter. Starscream’s hands cupped his face, thumbs tracing the metal of his cheeks and Skyfire’s spark throbbed with affection. 

He wanted many things. Wanted to gather Starscream in his arms and merge their sparks together, merge their frames, if possible. Wanted every molecule that made up Starscream. Wanted him forever, wanted everything. He settled for pressing Starscream into the berth even more, kissing him so deeply Starscream’s firm hold on his face went lax, giving up control.

Perfect.

Skyfire ran his palms over the span of Starscream’s wings, back again, touched his sides once more. “I love you,” he said with conviction, lifting his head to kiss Starscream’s nose, “ I love you, Starscream.”

“I love  _you,”_  Starscream gasped right after, not really thinking about it, “You big, adorable idiot. You’re an idiot. My idiot. What am I even going to do with you?”

Skyfire grinned, optics all slitted from joy, “You could let me be affectionate a little longer?”

Starscream tugged him down and mashed their lips together, and Skyfire simply took the gesture as a definite ‘yes’.


	66. waspinator/starscream (TFA); breeding [NSFW]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **NONCON** , sexual violence, robogore, mention of breeding and oviposition
> 
> wow. yes um. well i am quite crap at being creative with alien insect robot dicks and breeding things and egg things bc ive never tried all of that before (perhaps someday) hence why this is suuuper shitty. and i do not know how to write waspinator. also one day i will hurt tfa starscream beyond repair. today is not that day. im pretty sorry for this hahaa idk idk

“And just what in the Pit are you supposed to be?" 

The Seeker seemed cocky. His tone didn’t suit his circumstance; grounded and injured; he was shooting Waspinator a look that was disgust, curiosity and arrogance intermingled. A wing was ripped and bleeding. Waspinator had took the time to slice off a few cables under the mech’s knees so he couldn’t kick out, stuffed mud into his thrusters. He was virtually helpless. He didn’t act like he was, though.

Waspinator dismissed the question. He didn’t quite have an answer. The mech had been flying in an almost aimless fashion, circling and circling around above the forest. Something had lurched in Waspinator’s gut; hot and heavy; and he had shot the Seeker without thinking. The Seeker went down hard, but thrashed when Waspinator tried to pick him up like a dying thing, snarling and scratching and cursing. It had been easy to pull at the exposed wiring of his injured wing till it snapped, though, and the flier screamed loudly, too. He was  _loud_ , his entire being was loud and screechy, but Waspinator didn’t care for that much.

He had been flying, and Waspinator simply needed to ground him. A basic urge Waspinator couldn’t explain, much like most of his recent instincts.

But he supposed he had made an error in judgement.

The Seeker squawked when Waspinator lifted him up by the waist, claws encircling the mech’s frame easily, and Waspinator frowned. Too small. Irrationally small. Somehow that didn’t sit right with him, but he supposed it would do. He clicked and chirred, and the Seeker was struggling again, as much as he could with his wrists bound above his head and energon leaking from his wing continuously.

“Don’t  _touch_ me! Don’t you know who I am?! I’m Starscream, Decepticon Second-in-Command and I  _order_  you to stop touching me!” The screeching was getting really annoying, but Waspinator used his other hand to shove Starscream’s jaw closed by slamming his chin upwards, making him bite back his words.

Too small. But it would do.

He sought the seams of Starscream’s interface panel out, and pried it open with some effort, the metal bending painfully. Starscream went rigid, optics blazing bright with anger, and put violent effort in trying to wrench his head away from Waspinator’s grip, “ _No,_ stop—you can’t just! Stop it, stop—frag you,  _freak_ , STOP—“

Waspinator ripped the panel away, and spread the exposed valve lips apart. Clean, dry, also small. He tilted his head and clicked, displeased. Glancing up; Starscream was trying even harder to open his mouth, Waspinator’s hand was aching; he tried to imagine it. This mech bloated in the middle, a vessel, slim hips distending to make room for what Waspinator will put inside him, and—Starscream would do. A strong flier, he seemed good enough.

Waspinator extended his spike. It was barbed and had a sharp tip; it upgraded along with him, he didn’t mind; and Starscream’s struggling was fierce enough that his cuffed wrists were denting terribly, too much pressure exerted on them. He was a sight, splayed out and writhing, and Waspinator shoved himself inside without another thought.

It hurt. Starscream was dry enough that it chafed Waspinator’s spike, and Waspinator’s grip on his face loosened a little at the pain. He could feel the walls of Starscream’s valve tearing with his entry, the channel suddenly getting slick with the energon seeping from the tears. The Seeker screamed so hard something in his vocalizer popped. But Waspinator was inside. Inside and on the way to achieving what his coding wanted, nothing else mattered as much. The next thrust was easier, and so was the one after that, and Waspinator’s secondary limbs reached to caress Starscream’s sides, his abdomen, in anticipation of what would inevitably happen. He tried picturing Starscream swollen and egg-heavy. His excitement at the idea caused him to chirr loudly, his wings fluttering.

Starscream was shaking a little, mouth slack from the pain, most likely. His frame was lax, like he hadn’t any control over it. All the easier for Waspinator.

So when he arched his back and moaned, Waspinator was surprised. Suddenly it was like Starscream had come back to life, optics bright with emotion, his claws curling into fists, “Primus, ah, you’re so—you’re big! I can feel you here…mm.” His hips rolled as if to show Waspinator what he meant, Starscream pushed his chest out in a display, another moan bubbling forth from his lip components.

It pleased Waspinator to no end. It was odd; Waspinator couldn’t tell if Starscream was truly aroused or not from how wet his valve was, mostly from energon; but to have such an initially unwilling mech submit to him this way? It was amazing. Subjugating Starscream with his spike made him proud. Perhaps, Starscream will even come to crave this act, to crave the idea of Waspinator filling him up so good he’d rather do nothing else.

Starscream whined now, needy, his hips moving in small jerks as he took Waspinator’s spike in again and again. Waspinator just had to lean forward, to nuzzle at Starscream’s cheek, his neck, and Starscream sobbed in what seemed to be pleasure, his thighs rubbing on each of Waspinator’s sides.

“That’s good, Ssstarscream,” he hissed out, pleasure slurring his words, “Taking Waspinator like good bot. Seekerbot like this? Want this?”

“Yes, yes yes please, I need—” Starscream pressed his face against Waspinator’s shoulder, like he couldn’t say more, gasping nonsense against Waspinator’s plating. Waspinator groaned his delight, driven by the idea of having a willing mate who he could fuck and breed anytime he pleased, and a strong flier, too…

He almost didn’t feel it when Starscream’s thighs clamped harder on his sides, and the Seeker surged up against his frame to bite on the transparent filament of his wing. It didn’t quite register when Starscream tore it off with his dentae, then moved as quickly to Waspinator’s face, ripping off his antenna with the same lethal bite. Waspinator tried to rear back but Starscream was on his shoulder again, strong thighs trapping Waspinator close even as the rest of his legs flopped uselessly. The Seeker opened his mouth wide over Waspinator’s shoulder and bit in  _deep,_ so deep that when Waspinator finally shoved the Seeker away, Starscream took a chunk of Waspinator’s flesh with him.

The forced separation caused Waspinator’s spike to harshly scrape Starscream’s valve as it slipped out, but Starscream’s optics were blazing with triumph, and he spat out the protoform in his mouth, never breaking eye contact. “Technoorganics. Always been soft. You think you could just fragging take me? You think I won’t kill you the first chance I have? I’ll make _you_ scream then, mutant freak.”

There was energon dripping down Starscream’s chin, his denta was bared in a sneer and he looked so feral that Waspinator had only one thought in his processor: ‘He’s  _perfect._ ’


	67. pharma+tarn; medical malpractice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which pharma puts being a doctor on hold, and turns into a murderer.   
> i apologize for tarn, i havent read the new mtmte issues at all so his characterization may be really really off, but i love writing pharma and tarn. especially pharma. this was weird to write considering what i wanna do for a living, but also fun. haha. here. (thanks to mercurymaplekey for the poor patient’s name!)

_Just do it. Just do it! What are you so afraid of?_

Pharma gritted his dentae, fingers hovering over the supine frame, over the mech’s chest. The spark monitor attached to the patient beeped once, then took too long to beep the second time. The mech was clearly losing the battle for life. With time, he would be offline, one with the All Sparks’ Well; whatever he believed in.

But Pharma didn’t have time.

_Just do it. This is the only way._

His optics flitted to the mech’s face. Designation, Burn Out. He came in a while ago; 25 days previous; with a steel pole through his left flank and his right shoulder half blown off. Reactor accident, they had filed in the reports. Mech probably just fragged off some bad, bad people. First Aid had ushered him in while pinging Pharma insistently, and Ambulon had made sure to stabilize Burn Out’s condition; cauterized the ruptured energon lines, laid him down, tried to stop him from busting his vocalizer out with his screaming. They had been a little low on anaesthetics back then, but the cold of Delphi usually helped. Burn Out had sought out Pharma’s optics when they met for the first time, smiled through flickering optics and said, “Thank Primus, Doc. Make it stop.”

_Mistake_ , he thought.  _Be sure to not remember names, next time._

He made himself ignore the idea of there being a ‘next time’.

Mechs like Burn Out could usually handle severe damage. But someone had played dirty in his scuffle, had made sure to lace their weapons with a nasty energon-tainting virus. Perhaps they had really wanted Burn Out dead.

But Pharma and his crew had come through. They had figured out why it seemed to make no difference when they hooked Burn Out to energon infuses. Pharma had been a little angry that they had wasted bags of good energon on the mech; it wasn’t like it had helped any, not with the virus in his systems. They had been careless, to a degree.

They had extracted it out of him. But the damage had been too much, and his life force was dwindling bit by bit with every day that passed. But Burn Out was a big mech, and was pretty adamant to extend his lifespan as much as he could. But in the entirety of Delphi? He was the weakest.

No one would be surprised if he passed.

That was why Pharma was here.

_This is the only way._

Pharma didn’t consider himself to be self-righteous. He had his moments, he was quite an afthole, he knew. It was just how he was. He had met worst mechs, and better ones. But he has never murdered before.

_This is what it is, isn’t it? Murder._

_What kind of doctor are you?_

No time to mull over things like that. No time, lest he wanted everyone in his facility to die. That made sense, did it not? One death to prevent many more? He had dealt with death before, he was used to it. He had caused deaths, too; it was inevitable when one’s occupation involved lives. But it had never been deliberate. He had never killed, before.

_Just do it. This is the only way._

His hands were shaking. Burn Out hadn’t been conscious for a while now. It was easy to pretend that he had passed, that this was just another scavenging for Pharma, but he couldn’t ignore the slow beeping of the spark monitor.

A violation of the most important oath he had taken.

_It’s not like you haven’t broken the rules before. This is your facility. Protect it. Do whatever it takes._

He retracted the plating of his arm, accessing his subspace. Taking out a syringe; his fingers were  _shaking_ ; he glanced at it to reassure himself of its contents, and reached over to touch Burn Out’s neck. An injection to the neck cables, like administering sedatives. Like giving a patient painkillers.

Administering permanent system shutdown.

_Do it._

A shift of his wrist, a press of his thumb, and the spark monitor beeped two more times. Then it stopped altogether.

//

The Decepticon opened the case, his movements deliberate and slow. A T-Cog was palmed into his hand, and he brought it up to his mask for an inspection. Pharma’s arms were folded. He was watching carefully, in case Tarn decided to catch him unawares and slag him, or something. You could never be too lax with Decepticons. Much less with notorious murderers who enjoyed what they did.

_Halfway there, now._

Tarn placed the T-Cogs in a stack beside the case, taking his sweet time. The sixth T-Cog was near perfect, almost flawless, and Tarn made an appreciative sound at the quality of the part.

Burn Out had been a guard. He hadn’t needed to transform too many times.

Pharma shook. His wings rattled, his fingers gripped his own arms, clutching at himself. He would fall apart if he let go, he  _knew_ , he would just disassemble and perish.

_What have you done?_

Tarn had stopped counting, fully focused on Pharma. He was silent for a while, before his optics dimmed.

“Oh, Doctor,” Tarn said, his tone lilting, “Take my word. You never forget your first.”


	68. swindle/lockdown; swindling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a drabble request from mari-strider on tumblr!

:Okay, I hear what you’re sayin’, but what about this–:

“ _Enough._ ” Swindle cut off the comm. line abruptly, reaching for his ship’s console and slammed a hand down onto a button. Lockdown was number 5 on his speed dial, and he was already reconsidering his choice in putting that no good rust heap on his favorite contacts list at all. 

Lockdown accepted the vid call right away, his face materializing on one of Swindle’s monitors. He had an almost sheepish smile on his face and that just made Swindle crosser. Swindle frowned and pointed at Lockdown’s smarmy, pixelated face, finger jabbing the air.

“You know why you’re not my favorite customer, Lockdown? You haggle. And I  _get_ haggling, I sure do, but lately, you just never know when to stop. It’s disgusting. Have some dignity, for Primus’ sake.”

Anger was pinpricks under his plating, and Lockdown simply raised his optic ridges, his sleazy, stupid smile unwavering. He lifted both his hands, as if that’d make things better, “Hey now, Swin. I’m just trying to make a living. What’s the use of cashing in a few bounties, only to spend it all on the things you sell me? Doesn’t hurt to try and get a discount. I’ve been doing business with you for stellar cycles now.”

Swindle threw his arms up into the air, agitated, “I know! That’s what I’m saying! This is new, you’ve never been so _annoying_ before. You asked me to sell you the photon displacer gun for 3,000 credits. That’s–,” he had to pause, still unable to digest the very idea of such a thing, “That’s atrocious. What do you think I am? Stupid?”

And Lockdown was still smirking like an idiot. It was grating on Swindle’s nerves. 

“I’m not going to do business with you if you keep trying to _swindle_ me, Lockdown. We’re done.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Lockdown sat up then, finally not smiling anymore, “You serious? Fine, fine, I won’t mess with you too much after this, yeah?”

Swindle shot the monitor a dirty look, “Why’d you even start?”

The smirk returned, and Lockdown chuckled, “You know how you get all offended and high-pitched when you think you won’t get much profit from a sale? You react way better on cam, though, I shoulda known.”

Unbelievable. Swindle’s optics brightened with surprise, before they narrowed in suspicion, “Have you been flirting with me?”

Lockdown shrugged, lip components still curved in a smile, “Well, you sound real cute when–”

Swindle hung up. 


	69. skyfire/starscream; Shattered Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> manipulation, emotional abuse (implied)  
> this is really dang tame. super tame! i just wanted to lay out their dynamic in a short thing for myself really. and in any verse, i just cant make them not touch each other. sorry. also SG star apparently went to crystal city college! CCC, now thats a cute college name. mercurymaplekey and i talked about these guys a lot and well skyfire’s poison. sweet, sweet poison that’s painless. that’s him. ok this is nothing much buT well

“Really, Starscream,” Skyfire’s lip components curved, just a little, “Who else cares for you as much as I do?”

Starscream could argue with the rhetorical question. He had colleagues. Sure, he wasn’t the most social mech around, but he wasn’t friendless. Some mechanisms must have cared for him a  _little._

But Skyfire had a point. He did care the most.

“You want a medal for that?” Starscream retorted, and Skyfire laughed, opening his arms. It was difficult not to approach the shuttle then; Starscream really did like being held. Skyfire’s arms were solid around his frame, fingers as light pressure resting against the base of his wings. Like a weighted blanket. Smothering.

But he loved this, loved Skyfire speaking against his audio receptor.

“Shooting star,” Skyfire hummed, “Always trying so hard. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

Being in Skyfire’s arms made Starscream feel grounded, stable, but as always, Skyfire’s words left a bad taste in his intake. It was like he had swallowed something bitter and dark, and it had settled in the base of his digestive tank, festering. Rotting him from the inside, slowly.

Words tumbled from his lips; he couldn’t stop himself.

“You make me feel so insignificant, sometimes.”

Skyfire stopped touching his wings. The arms slowly retracted, and it was just so cold, suddenly, and regret overwhelmed the bitterness in Starscream’s core.

Skyfire looked down at him with surprise in his optics, with disappointment, “What? Star, I love you. You know I do. How could you say that?”

This…had happened so many times before. Déjà vu.

“No, Sky. It’s just that sometimes I feel that way. I know you care, but—“

“You take things so seriously,” Skyfire sighed, before smiling wistfully, “Relax. You mean a lot to me, I only want the best for you. Surely you know that?”

He hated it when Skyfire looked at him like that. As if Skyfire would leave. His wings felt so cold, “I know. I do know. Sorry. I’m just tired, I guess.”

“College is really draining you, isn’t it?” And black hands returned to wrap around him again; Skyfire pressed a kiss to his forehead in what felt like tenderness, “Poor Star. I’m here for you, always.”

Starscream pressed his face against Skyfire’s chest. The bad feeling in his tank remained, but he wasn’t cold anymore. Skyfire was warm, he was there. Forever present. Like a trap.


	70. 3 sentence fics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i accepted prompts for three-sentence fics and here they are!

 

> Blurr/Windblade, dancing at a party

He was here, then he was there; Windblade was dancing with no one but everywhere she turned, there was a familiar flash of blue in her periphery. It was only a matter of time till Blurr materialized in front of her, smiling bright. He opened his mouth to say something, but Windblade was already shouting a “Yes, let’s dance!” over the noise of the crowd.

 

> Skyfire/Starscream , ‘crying your spark out’

“You can cry your spark out and beg,” Starscream snapped, folding his arms, “I’m not moving in with you, Skyfire. I need my space.” Skyfire made a sad noise but ceased altogether at the fierce flare of Starscream’s field.

A week later, Skyfire opened the door to Starscream and some of the Seeker’s furniture on his doorstep, and the best thing was that he didn’t even have to beg.

 

> Skywarp/Moonracer, prank war 

“That’ll teach you to think twice before messing with me!” Moonracer hollered from a safe distance away, as Skywarp tried his damnedest to get the black goo off of his wings. He only succeeded in getting the gunk on his hands, too, which made Moonracer laugh in glee. She whirled around to zoom off, only to hear a loud ‘ _VOP’_ and consequently run into a hand full of black goo that smacked her right in the face. 

 

> Arcee/Flamewar/Sunstorm, drowning in high grade

Sunstorm was a sight when he was smashed. “I’m  _so_ blessed, you two are a blessing,” he kept repeating, squeezing Flamewar’s and Arcee’s hands in his, sometimes bringing them to his face with something like reverence. Flamewar’s laughter was very pleasant, it suited the atmosphere; Arcee just kept smacking Sunstorm in the face without pulling her hand away. 

 

 

> Jetstorm/Airazor, pretending

They were fighting; well, they  _looked_  like they were fighting. Divebomb and Slipstream stopped punching one another to watch their counterparts go at it, how they moved the way they should, going through the motions. Airazor swiped at Jetstorm’s head and Jetstorm twirled away, like they  _should_ , yet the both of them also seemed to be trying very hard to not burst into giggles; but that wouldn’t make sense now, would it?

 

 

> Longarm/Blurr, horror

“Are you afraid, Blurr?” Longarm asked in a quiet voice, leaning close so Blurr would hear him.

“Not particularly, Sir,” Blurr whispered back, shaking his head, “This movie isn’t that scary.” 

Longarm nodded and began to retract his arm wrapped around Blurr, but the racer stopped him with a hand on his, optics still transfixed on the screen, “Please don’t stop holding me, anyway.”

 

 

> TFA Bulkhead, hugs

Sari’s hugs almost felt like they weren’t real, just soft, not-really-there touches to a small area of his plating. She would  _squeeze_ , and squeeze hard, too, her face scrunching up with enthusiasm. And it’d still feel like nothing, but Bulkhead loved her hugs the most. 

/

Bulkhead only felt truly enveloped when it was both Scrapper and Mix hugging him. They hugged like they were trying to crush him in between them, all strong arms and almost painful collisions. Bulkhead always felt like he belonged, right there and then.

 

 

> Elita/Op/Sentinel, chocolate

Sentinel took one look at the off-planet confectionery and immediately backed away, claiming it was ‘gross’ and ‘probably toxic’. Elita shrugged but turned to Optimus afterwards, feeding him a piece of the chocolate since he was interested in a taste. It had  _nothing_ to do with how Optimus’ lips closed over Elita’s fingertips, but Sentinel apparently changed his mind about the chocolate being toxic, edging closer while pointing at his own mouth.

 

 

> TFA Ratchet/Arcee, awkward

“Thank you for doing a good job with Omega Supreme, Ratchet,” Arcee smiled, looking at her hands that were clasped together, “And thank you for…everything else.”

Ratchet made a gruff noise, and his optics were flitting towards everywhere but Arcee, “Don’t mention it. Just doin’ my job.”

Omega watched them with an amused expression, before speaking up, “For as long as I have been online, I don’t think I’ve ever seen either of you this flustered.” Arcee blushed furiously and Ratchet threw a wrench at Omega’s leg, but Omega decided that it was quite worth it.

 

 

> Shockwave/Blurr, friends

“Are they truly necessary, my dear?” the claw around his waist was loose, but Blurr could not find it in himself to get away, “Do you really want friends?”

Blurr tried to speak, failed, tried again, “I suppose it’d be nice to have friends I don’t  _need_ them or anything but it would be nice nevertheless to have people to talk to and hang out with sometimes, Shockwave, but I won’t push the issue.”

Shockwave leaned down and his optic was all Blurr could see, “I shall consider it. But I’m quite sure you don’t need anyone else but me, Blurr.”

 

 

> Sentinel/Sari , common ground

“Oh come  _on_!” Sari folded her arms and huffed, “I’m not a little human kid anymore! Darn it, Optimus.”

She wasn’t sure how long Sentinel had been there, or even where he came from, but there was no mistaking the smug tone from behind her, “I’m not surprised. How did Optimus fail at being a decent mech this time?”

Their resulting conversation was interesting, and while Sari didn’t wholly agree with Sentinel’s opinions regarding the Autobots guarding Earth, she did make a mental note to contact Sentinel again when she was feeling particularly eager to bitch about things.

 

 

> Bulkhead/Constructicons, boredom

Scrapper was the worst when he was bored. It wasn’t so bad with Mix, he’d just get really clingy and touchy-feely, but Scrapper; he was on a whole other level. He built a life-sized replica of Bulkhead with oil barrels and electric cables that he snapped from Primus-knows-where in the middle of the main road just to see cars drive in between replica-Bulkhead’s legs and since then, Bulkhead made sure to keep Scrapper entertained, always.

 

 

> TFA Wasp/Waspinator, bathing

There was a stream in the forest that Waspinator frequented that lead to a lake, probably, but Waspinator was content enough to kneel beside the stream whenever he wanted to use the water. There was something instinctual about it, to dip his servos in the stream, to wash whatever part of him he felt like. The water also served as a mirror, a daily reminder of what he had become.

 

 

> Rid15 Grimlock, philosophy

Grimlock has deep thoughts sometimes, ruminations about his past, his present and future. He had been having fewer thoughts like that recently, because apparently genuine happiness led to a lack of philosophical reasoning; Grimlock was driven by pure emotion rather than logical thought. And that was fine, he figured, that was dandy, because as long as he was around Bumblebee, he didn’t need to worry about his past or his future.

 

 

> Strongarm, Hall of Fame

She was a pretty astounding mechanism, she knew that. Even stranded on Earth, lacking resources and mechpower, Strongarm did fairly well as a member of Lieutenant Bumblebee’s team; much,  _much_ better than some lame punk who was nothing but a show off. She wasn’t looking for fame or power, of course, but should she be appreciated at least a little bit? Most definitely.


	71. things you said meme (assorted)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a meme i did a year ago. prompts and pairings before the drabble

**things you said under the stars and in the grass & things you said after you kissed me (pharma/ratchet, pre-delphi)**

It was night, and they had decided to stop by at the nearest park out of spontaneity. Routine could get unhealthy in lengthy periods of time, or so was Pharma’s philosophy. A change of pace was sometimes vital. So here they were, done with work and a ways away from the bustle of the city’s nightlife, lying down in the grass of the new organic park. Their new Prime seemed to be quite eccentric when it came to infrastructure. 

The sky was clear. Ratchet had thought this sudden visit was a bad idea, but now he couldn’t stop marveling at the stars. And Pharma couldn’t stop watching Ratchet. 

He leaned over eventually, hovering over his colleague. “You seem entranced. It’s a good look for you. It’s _what_ you’re entranced with that’s not quite right.” 

Ratchet reset his optics and smiled, reaching to touch Pharma’s cheek. He pushed himself up a little, kissing Pharma’s lip components, and dropped back down with a huff. “Now I’m entranced with you. Is that better?”

Pharma smiled, and shifted to drape his arms over Ratchet’s chest, “Much better.”

 

**things you said at 1am (rodimus/blurr TFA, Hambone's Textbook Felony)**

The ringing didn’t sound real, like it was too far away, but Blurr reached for his cellphone anyway. He was so sleepy he didn’t quite manage to put the phone to his audial, but he still vaguely heard the breathing on the other end. “Mmrgh?”

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” was the reply. It sounded like Rodimus. It probably was Rodimus.

“M’kay, Roddy. Okay.”

“…Goodnight.”

Blurr drifted back to sleep.

 

**things you said through your teeth (omega supreme/ratchet, TFA)**

His insides were rattling. Omega Supreme had never experienced anything like this before. He felt helpless.

“For the love of Primus, Omega,” Ratchet chuckled, smacking Omega Supreme’s control panel, “ _Relax._ ”

His chuckling was forced. His hand slid off Omega’s panel and left a streak of energon behind. Ratchet was in pain, a gash in his side causing him to leak profusely, and the impromptu patch up job Ratchet did for himself was proving to be insufficient.

And Omega…he couldn’t fly. The enemy had done _something_ to his boosters and there was no way for him to get up in the air.

A noise of despair escaped him, and he tried to stop his shaking, but failed.

“Ratchet…I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’ve sent a signal for help but I—“

“Then you’ve done enough,” his mentor said in reassurance, but the words were hissed, pain overwhelming him, “We’ll just… We’ll wait. It’ll be alright, buddy.”

He could feel Ratchet shivering on the floor inside him, in agony. Ratchet was bleeding and Omega Supreme couldn’t even hold him, as comfort.

All he could do was sit there and wait. Like a stupid ship.

 

**things you said too quietly (skyfire/starscream, Fire In The Sky)**

The cold felt like lingering frost in his lines, it was biting and terrible, and Skyfire couldn’t stop holding himself throughout the torrent that was Starscream’s words. They were biting and also terrible, if Skyfire thought about it, but Starscream didn’t seem to notice. He briefed Skyfire about the war and the enemy and the things they had to do about that, and while Skyfire had never heard such true violence slipping from Starscream’s lips, the Seeker’s manner of speaking remained the same. The motions with his arms, the minute flicks of his wings were _familiar_ , and Skyfire was grateful for it.

He wished Starscream’s arms were around him. Perhaps the cold would disappear.

Starscream stopped eventually, optics bright as he addressed his long-time friend, “Do you understand, Skyfire?” He placed a hand on Skyfire’s arm, and warmth seemed to suffuse from that single area of contact into Skyfire’s plating. Skyfire’s processor was still a little sluggish from his awakening, from all the stellar cycles of disuse, but he replied an affirmative and Starscream’s smile made him feel even warmer.

He had dreamed of this, before. Waking up to Starscream’s face seemed like the best thing that could have happened to him. If only this had occurred under different circumstances.

Starscream had been saying something, his optics downcast and his voice so low that Skyfire could not catch his words.

“Starscream?” he queried, but the Seeker shook his head, lifting his hand away.

“We need to go.”

He turned to leave and Skyfire followed him, but the cold returned, frost in his lines.

“ _I’m so happy you’re here. I’m so happy you’re here. Never leave me again.”_

 

**things you said over the phone (mirage/cliffjumper, TFA)**

Cliffjumper leaned back in his chair, a murderous expression on his faceplates.

 _:So are you free tonight_?: Mirage asked through the phone, casually.

_:No. Not in a million years.:_

_:Oh, really?:_

_:Yes, really. Fragger.:_

Mirage’s smirk was evident in his tone _, :At what time should I be at your place?:_

_:Eight. Sharp.:_

_:Noted. Have a nice day, Cliffjumper.:_

The minibot huffed and killed the connection, folding his arms. He ex-vented harshly, and grumbled under his breath. Longarm Prime raised an optic ridge at the mech, before picking up the datapads addressed to him from Cliffjumper’s desk.  

“Is everything alright, Cliffjumper?”

“Yes, Sir,” Cliffjumper said with a scowl, “Just unwanted company.”

 

**things you said over the phone (ironhide/wasp, rehab AU)**

Ironhide’s nervousness had never really disappeared, even after all this while. He tapped at the side of his helm while he waited, absently chewing on his lower lip component.

There was a beep.

“Forwarding communication to patient 137-Y; designation Wasp. Proceed with forwarding?”

“Yes.”

Silence, before there was a click, the call successfully transferred. Wasp’s voice was steady, “Hello.”

Ironhide tried to make his voice just as steady, too, “Hey Wasp. It’s me, Ironhide. You busy?”

“Like mechs could be busy with anything, here,” the reply was wry, and Ironhide couldn’t help a smile. They had had phone conversations regularly, aside from Ironhide’s visits. Wasp wasn’t exactly warming up to him, but he wasn’t as hostile as he was the first time Ironhide met him in the rehabilitation centre.

That being said…

“Thought you got yourself into circuit board repairing? You’ve always been good at delicate work, though you never actually said you liked the whole deal.”

Wasp scoffed, “Wasp doesn’t like doing it. Tedious. But better than doing nothing, ‘Hide.”

“I thought so,” Ironhide chuckled, but his smile disappeared eventually. The bad feeling in his oil tanks returned.

“Why did you call?” Wasp asked as if on cue, “You just called two days ago.”

Ironhide offlined his optics for a moment, “Ah, yeah. I’m real sorry, Wasp, but I can’t go see you this weekend. Something came up last minute, I gotta go off planet. They just told me seconds ago. So I uh—“

There was no possible way for Ironhide to know what Wasp was thinking, considering they were in two different places, speaking through comms., but somehow the atmosphere just felt colder.

“…Wasp?”

“Is there anything else.”

Wasp’s tone had changed, no longer the way it was before; turned rigid and icy. Closed off. All that progress, gone. Ironhide didn’t know what to do.

Again, he had disappointed Wasp.

“Wasp, buddy, I _really_ want to visit you but I just—“

“I understand. Duty calls. It doesn’t matter to Wasp anyway, ‘Hide, it doesn’t make a difference if you visit Wasp or not.”

That hurt. Speaking to Wasp always hurt, and he didn’t know why things were that way, too.

(He knew why, and he probably deserved every word Wasp said to him.)

“I’ll come visit you next week.” He hated how weak his words were.

“Whatever.”

“Goodbye, Wasp.”

The comm. went dead. Ironhide took his hand away from his helm, and offlined his optics.

 

**things you didn't say at all (starscream/soundwave, TFP)**

 It was just the two of them, now.

While Megatron’s long, long journey seemed like a great opportunity to Starscream, there was also the slight sense of loss that reverberated in his frame, light shivers that panned out to his wings. He felt a little lost. It was different, overthrowing a leader to take his place, and being left alone for an unspecific time period to ‘take care of things’. The former made Starscream feel like a drone. Used. Lonely.

And yet, he wasn’t exactly alone, was he?

Soundwave was with him. Like that made an iota of a difference.

The continuous silence from the mech at the moment made Starscream feel that perhaps he was truly lonely, after all.

“We’ve had our differences, Soundwave,” he chanced once again, determined this time to not get angry first, “But you must realize the fact that is it only you and I who keep this army organized. We have to work together. You know that, don’t you?”

And it was petty, really, because Soundwave has been doing a good job, whatever he does. It was just the lack of a response that was driving Starscream crazy. As if without Soundwave’s resolute _‘yes’_ , there will always be a difference of opinions between them. While Starscream was used to that, in their current situation…maybe knowing where he stood in Soundwave’s optics would give him a sense of companionship. A good workplace relationship. Even Starscream wasn’t sure what he was looking for.

Still, Soundwave kept silent. Not even a soundbite was used, and Starscream’s frustration grew.

“Soundwave.”

The mech had already been looking at Starscream, his face literally a blank screen, but he was saying _nothing._

Starscream frowned at him for a while, before venting harshly and spat out in his irritation, “I never know what you’re thinking!”

More silence, and Starscream thought Soundwave was going to ignore him forever. But Soundwave’s left arm lifted, and his fingers reached to touch his own right shoulder.

Soundwave then reached for Starscream’s chest, and before the Seeker could move away, he brushed his digits over Starscream’s chest. Their Decepticon insignias. Starscream stared.

Somehow, that was answer enough.

/

Starscream tapped his chin, before asking slowly, “So…is that a yes?”

Soundwave smacked his own helm with his hand so loud, the sound echoed throughout the ship.

 

**things you said while we were driving (optimus/prowl, TFA)**

The city was packed since it was a Saturday, and also because one of the main parks uptown had just been obliterated by Decepticon forces. It had been a manic Lugnut, shouting about saving his Lord Megatron. He had been driven away nevertheless, after a few hours of intense battle.

The Autobots had their own route to return to HQ, beside the long, long line of Earth vehicles.

Prowl was disgruntled. It was apparent in his field, Optimus noted, shaky and zinging with frustration. 

“Prowl?” Optimus queried eventually, driving in close, “Are you alright?”

“Yes. I’m just…lacking the focus to keep this holoform up.” As if proving the point, the human man projected on top of Prowl flickered visibly, “And I’m _really_ not in the mood for the humans to shout and point at a motorcycle without a driver." 

Optimus pulsed comfort before picking up the pace a little, surpassing Prowl.

"Drive on my right. I’ll be your shield.”

Prowl hesitated, but slowed down and swerved to the side. There were no roads beside him now, and Prowl supposed that it made quite a difference. He terminated his holoform, and found himself with a clearer processor.

“Is this better?”

“Yes,” he replied, and added as an afterthought, “That was a really cheesy line, by the way." 

The smile in Optimus’ tone was apparent, "You like it.”

Prowl didn’t answer, but the wave of amusement he sent the Prime’s way was affirmation enough.

 

**things you said that made me feel like shit (skyfire/starscream, shattered glass)**

Try as he might, Starscream couldn’t stop himself from melting against Skyfire’s frame when the shuttle held him, just like this. A black arm wrapped around his shoulders to pull him close, and Starscream seemed to fit just right by Skyfire’s side. (That being said, there were times where it felt like everything was sharp angles and discomfort, and Starscream needed to get away, but it wasn’t so right now. Right now was perfect.)

It was a little embarrassing, however, considering that they were in public. Starscream had always been averse to Skyfire’s displays, but he was more open to them now. Skyfire had this knack at showing Starscream how good things could be.

“Starscream, hey!”

The voice startled Starscream but he glanced over his shoulder to see a familiar mech waving at him. It was one of the mechs in one of his classes, someone he vaguely knew but recognized nevertheless. Starscream ducked to slip out under Skyfire’s arm with a light pat to Skyfire’s elbow, and waved right back, “Hello?”

“Fancy meeting you here,” the mech grinned, “I’m Blank, you’ve probably seen me around in the labs.”

Starscream was a little embarrassed; the fact that he didn’t know the mech’s name had been obvious, apparently, “Ah. Yes, I have, but I definitely didn’t know your name. I’m Starscream.”

An arm wrapped around his shoulders again, sudden enough that Starscream jumped. He looked up to see Skyfire, leaning in close, smiling at the stranger. His flush worsened; he even tried to shrug Skyfire’s arm off a little, but to no avail. He relented, “And um, this is Skyfire.”

Skyfire’s hand lifted in a wave, the hand near Starscream’s face, and his fingers brushed the flier’s cheek. Blank’s smile was still wide, “Hey there. You didn’t need to introduce yourself anyway, Starscream, everyone knows who you are. You’re the Institute’s star, pun intended.”

This was all quite embarrassing to Starscream, and he just laughed, shaking his head slightly, “Well, I’m flattered that you think so.”

“It’s been nice bumping into you, Blank,” Skyfire said, and his arm around Starscream tightened, “But we really should be getting home. Been a long day for Star here.”

“Oh, okay, no problem,” Blank nodded, “I’ll see you around, Starscream. It was nice meeting you too, Skyfire.” One last wave, and he turned to leave.

“Bye,” Starscream said belatedly, but Skyfire was already guiding him back into the direction they were heading, But this time, Starscream wiggled out of Skyfire’s hold, “I’m not _that_ tired, you know.”

Skyfire looked at him in surprise, “What? Well yeah, I know. I just didn’t like the way he was talking to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t hear it?” Skyfire frowned, before something mellowed his features. It was pity. “He was really condescending. Especially with his so-called pun, it was getting on my nerves.”

Starscream tried to recall any hint of condescension in the conversation he just had, and found none. Blank didn’t seem patronizing, he was just a little lively. “I really didn’t hear him being condescending, Skyfire.”

Skyfire sighed, and the small smile curving his lip components made Starscream feel odd. Like there was something churning in his oil tanks, heavy and thick. “You’re really oblivious sometimes, Star. What would you do without me? But it’s fine, he’s gone now. Let’s go home.”

He wanted to say something in reply, tell Skyfire that he _really_ didn’t think he was mistaken, but Skyfire’s arm was extended and inviting. It wasn’t the first time Starscream had felt like this, anyway. He still didn’t like the uneasiness in his tanks, but it wasn’t uncommon.

So he slid back under Skyfire’s arm, fitting against the shuttle’s side, and hoped that it was just as perfect as it was before.

It wasn’t.

 

**things you said when you were drunk (fracture/thunderhoof)**

Fracture whirled around, eyes wide in his surprise, “ _Excuse me?”_

Thunderhoof seemed contemplative, a hand on his chin, frowning, as if he was thinking very hard. Fracture knew for a fact he was inebriated, at least a little, from the high grade Steeljaw had brought from Primus-knows-where. He wouldn’t have guessed it if he hadn’t known beforehand, but what Thunderhoof had said was still too weird. Out of the blue. They had an agreement, for frag’s sake!

“I said,” Thunderhoof began again, his words slurring just a little, still looking like he was deep in thought, “It’d be awesome if you’d let me take ya for a ride sometime. Yer a real looker, Fracture.”

Fracture just stared, as Thunderhoof nodded to himself and tapped the side of his helm, “Y’think about it. No rush.”

And then the mech turned to saunter away, like he had just asked about the weather. Fracture was still staring.

Of course Divebomb and Airazor just _had_ to pop up from his shoulders at that moment.

“Boss, did he just…?”

“…Aren’t the two of you fraggin’ already?”

“ _Shut up._

 

**things you said after you kissed me (grimlock/bumblebee, RID 2015)**

Bee had a hand clamped over his mouth, his optics were bright with shock and despite the fact that Grimlock was _damned,_ he just had to marvel over how extremely cute Bumblebee could be. It was a pleasant thought in the midst of the thick apprehension clouding the Dinobot’s processor, because he had just fragged up. He fragged up big time.

How was he going to explain this mess?

“Uh,” he started, his vocalizer clicking a few times, “Well! That was outta nowhere, huh? Haha. Sorry mech, it just kinda happened, maybe we can just never talk about it, ever, because y’know. Talk about awkward.”

He wasn’t even convincing himself. Why was his self-control so lacking in the first place anyway? Sure, Bumblebee was charismatic and perfect and so, so kind, and Grimlock felt pretty intensely about his leader, but that was exactly the problem. Bee was the leader and he was the subordinate. He had no place to go around kissing the mech who ranked above him. Even if said mech was cute as all hell.

Bee looked good even like this, still in shock, his cheeks tinted blue. Grimlock just had to frag a good thing up. Things would definitely be weird after this. Maybe they wouldn’t even talk anymore, and the idea terrified him.

“Look, Bee—”

He went silent however, because there were hands on his face. Bumblebee was wearing a fairly serious expression, even if he was still blushing furiously. Grimlock was again amazed but how much he honestly liked his boss. He liked Bumblebee _a lot._

“Now you listen to me. We are going to kiss again. And we’re going to do it right this time. Got it?”

Grimlock swallowed, nodding in Bee’s hold, “Got it.”

If he failed in kissing Bee properly the first few times because he was too eager, then that was just due to his lack of self-control. It wasn’t so bad at all.

 

**things you said with too many miles between us (blurr/longarm prime)**

Blurr knew for a fact that no one was around; Master Disaster kept his prized cars in a garage with reinforced steel and security measures that were impressive considering Earth’s technology. He knew that his comm.line was impossible to interfere with, and he wasn’t in any way compromised.

His message was sent as a whisper, nevertheless, _:Blurr to Longarm Prime. Do you read?:_  

He had always hated waiting for a reply. Blurr could be patient, but he hated this part the most.

Fortunately, Longarm Prime replied right away.

_:Agent Blurr. Status report, if you’d please?:_

It was automatic, by now, _:Still in the same position as before, Sir. I’m keeping tabs on the Autobot team and the Decepticons _on Earth_. The human professor is still in captivity. No further information on what the Decepticons are doing exactly, but it’ll definitely come to light soon enough, Sir, everything’s good on my end.:_

Which wasn’t exactly the case, but Longarm Prime had so much on his plate already.

There was a sigh of relief, _:Good. I can always count on you, Agent Blurr.:_

It seemed inappropriate, considering the circumstances, but Blurr’s spark swirled. _:What about you, Sir? How is Cybertron?:_

_:To tell you the truth, things aren’t going so well. The assault on our spacebridges are relentless. But we will persevere.:_

_:We will.:_ Blurr vented, the quiet of the garage suddenly profound. _:Take care of yourself, Longarm Prime.:_

_:I will. Stay safe, Agent Blurr.:_

The connection was terminated. And just like many times before, all Blurr could think of after a conversation with Longarm was the fact that it had been so long since he had seen his Prime’s face.

 

**things you said with no space between us (tarn/pharma)**

Tarn was everywhere. He was in the air Pharma inhaled, in the spaces in between Pharma’s seams. He was in the electricity that ran through Pharma’s circuitry, in every spasm of Pharma’s spark. Tarn was all-encompassing.

Pharma onlined his optics, and saw Tarn sitting on the edge of the berth, not touching him in the least. Red optics seemed to be fixed on Pharma, watching his every move, but there was no area of contact in between them.

Pharma felt hyperaware.

He exhaled, vision blurring for a klik. Tarn tilted his head and Pharma’s optics zeroed in on the Decepticon’s face, the minute shift captivating. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, his entire being felt ethereal.

“ _How are you feeling, Doctor_?”

Pharma’s optics whited out, his spark yanked into several directions, tendrils of light escaping through the seams under his chest. He could feel _everything,_ from the fritzing of the small wires in his spark chamber to the spasms in every joint he had. There was no explaining what this felt like. It was unadulterated intensity, overwhelming and bright, pain-shock-pleasure all merged into one. Pharma shook and didn’t stop shaking, digits digging into the berth for some semblance of stability.

“Pharma, _answer me._ ” Tarn’s tone was lilting this time, and it only felt like a caress to Pharma’s churning spark, like comfort.

He rebooted his vocalizer; at some point it had died; clicked and whirred before getting a word out, “…Open. Empty. Like I’m a—“ Pharma touched his chest, he thought he could feel his core licking at the plating underneath, “Like I’m a vacuum.”

He looked over at Tarn. Tarn was still all over him, his presence still profound, and they were still not touching. This Decepticon. The abhorrent murderer, making himself known as the warmth spreading throughout Pharma’s frame.

“Are we done?” Pharma made himself say.

Tarn’s laughter was without his specialty, and yet it made Pharma’s spark jump, “Not even _close_ , my dear doctor.”

 

**things you said that i wish you hadn't (skyfire/starscream)**

“Pass me that datapad, will you? The one on the top of the pile,” Starscream simply extends his arm back, not bothering to turn around. Science is happening right under his optics, and Skyfire’s reliable enough to trust with things like this.

True enough, the datapad is placed in his hand right away, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Star. It’s no problem, I can do anything. I’m the sex machine.”

Starscream stops. He just stops; his frame seizes up and it was fortunate that the datapad is safely in his grip. Because something _has_ to be wrong here.

He turns around, slowly, and places the datapad on his worktable for good measure. His worst suspicion has come true. Skyfire’s standing behind him, hand on a hip. He’s wearing—he is honestly, true to Primus, wearing the shirt Starscream had _jokingly_ given to him a few weeks ago. It has the lettering ‘Sex Machine’ printed on it; ‘Impact’ as its font. It is hot pink. It had seemed like a really great idea at the time. The look on Skyfire’s face had been so worth it, a few weeks ago.

Starscream realizes that he had this coming to him, all along.

“What are you doing.” he asks, dreading the answer.

Skyfire only shifts his stance, tilting his head in a manner that is _maddening,_ “What _am_ I doing? Just helping around, sweetspark. Being a good sex machine.”

“What does that even _mean._ ”

“You know what it means.”

Starscream rubs at his face, his project forgotten for the time being. “Skyfire, really, this is ridiculous and unnecessary. And stupid. And I doubt being a sex machine consists of…this.”

“Oh, I know,” the shuttle’s smile is as pleasant as always, despite the little hip check he’s sporting, “Obviously, my prime directive is to bring you to extreme heights of pleasure, all day, every day. But I’m also a very thoughtful sex machine. I just want to make your life easier, Starscream.”

This is quite unfair, of course. Skyfire’s being annoying and dumb, but also cute. It doesn’t help that he’s changing poses every so often, probably trying to be sexy. (His efforts aren’t exactly futile.) But the shirt is ridiculous, and Starscream wants to rip it off of Skyfire and burn it, but that would mean he has lost this particular battle.

“Okay, so how long are you going to be like this?”

Skyfire’s wings lifts and drops, he’s still smiling. “As long as you want, darling. I’m the sex machine, I can do this all. Night. Long.”

Starscream darts to their balcony is less than a klik, jumps off the railing, transforms, and flies away.

 

 

**things you said when you were scared (ramjet & skywarp, TFA)**

“I don’t think—“ he was clinging, unnecessarily so, trembling and shaking against Ramjet’s arm, “I know I’m usually scared of everything and I am, I still am, but this feels a little worse than usual. It feels like,” Skywarp stopped again, his optics flashing with his anxiety, “This feels like a lost cause. We’re a lost cause.”

Ramjet vented, rolling his optics, but patted Skywarp’s helm all the same. Skywarp made a pitiful noise and pushed his head against Ramjet’s hand, “Don’t you think so? Is it just me?”

His tone indicated that he wanted an answer. Ramjet vented again, and looked at the other Seeker.

“Here’s what I think. Of course we’re going to be alright, we’re clones. Forged from the most charismatic, the strongest Decepticon existing. Starscream himself. And that means there’s a guarantee that we’d live long enough, like normal mechs. It’s not like we were created for the sole purpose of being disposable. So no, Skywarp, I think you’re wrong. We’re not a lost cause in the least.”

Skywarp’s eventual smile was wobbly, and he squeezed Ramjet’s arm in what seemed like gratitude.

Then he realized what Ramjet had _really_ said, and his face fell. Ramjet couldn’t deny it. Skywarp looked best with fear in his optics.

 

**things you said when we were at the top of the world (jetstorm/jetfire, TFA)**

“Brother,” Jetfire exhaled, squeezing Jetstorm’s hand hard enough the mech hissed a little, “This is best feeling in the world.”

“Yes,” Jetstorm nodded, breathless, giddiness apparent in his tone, “Yes. Looking very forward to being Safeguard together now, brother.”

They were lying down on the floor, holding hands. It was the first time they’ve combined without an urgency to do so, and they had been able to fully experience the feeling of being Safeguard. There had been a rush, before, battle taking their minds off the fact that they were _one,_ but now they were able to truly savour what it felt like.

It was overwhelming.

Jetfire pushed himself up, turning to smirk down at his twin, “Maybe we can being Safeguard all the time?”

“No, no,” Jetstorm reached up and tugged at Jetfire’s headpiece gently, “Perceptor saying earlier that too much combine will put a straining to our frames. We cannot be doing that always, Jetfire.”

The orange mech huffed, dropping himself on top of Jetstorm. There was a light ‘thunk’; his head colliding with Jetstorm’s chest. Jetstorm rested his hand on Jetfire’s head anyways, smiling to himself.

“That is stupid. Safeguard is the most amazing,” Jetfire lifted his head, pouting up at Jetstorm.

Jetstorm laughed, patting Jetfire on the cheek before letting his hands drop, “That is true, he is the most great. We together are the most amazing, brother, you be knowing that.”

Jetfire nodded with enthusiasm, “Of course I be knowing, brother! But us together as Safeguard…it is best feeling. We have the good feeling. Shame that we cannot be doing that all the time.”

His brother smiled, sympathy softening Jetstorm’s expression. Jetfire sighed, shifting slightly, before pausing a moment to look at Jetstorm’s face. Then he grinned, sitting up and consequently straddling Jetstorm by the hips.

“We can be doing something else that will also be the amazing though, brother.”

“Oh?” Jetstorm seemed curious, hands now lifting to rest on Jetfire’s hips, as if to make sure the mech wouldn’t topple off.

“Yes! Here,” A white finger tapped Jetstorm’s chestplates, “You be opening up now.”

Jetstorm’s optics brightened, and grinned wide enough that they were sharing the same smile, “Ah, now that _is_ amazing.”

 

**things you said that i wasn't meant to hear (sentinel prime/optimus prime, TFA)**

It was too early in the morning. Most of the trainees were not even awake yet, but Optimus had to get up; he had cleaning duty. That consisted of cleaning the barracks, the mess hall, and whatever Sarge ordered him to. It wasn’t fun, but everyone had to do it at some point. It was Optimus’ turn.

But first, hygiene.

Optimus dragged himself out of his berth and to the showers, resetting his optics repeatedly to gain full awareness. He had assumed that he’d be the only one in the showers, but apparently there was already a mechanism using one of the stalls, the noise of falling water loud enough in the silence. What kind of weirdo even woke up this early willingly? It was odd, but Optimus wasn’t that concerned. He wasn’t sure who it was though, and he’d probably find out eventually.

He looked into the mirrors outside the stall and took out his dental bleach from the toiletries that he had brought, ready to look somewhat presentable.

Someone moaned.

Optimus froze, staring at himself in the mirror because that was undeniably a _moan,_ a throaty exhalation that couldn’t be translated into anything else but arousal.

“Ohh, frag,” the moaning voice continued, as if prompted, “Mmm. Frag yes.”

It echoed, too, the voice reverberating due to the tiled walls of the showers, and Optimus was still locked up. He had walked on someone self-servicing, loudly. That was one thing.

He also recognized that voice. It was Sentinel. He couldn’t mistake Sentinel’s voice for anyone else’s.  

Leaving was obviously the option Optimus should go for. He didn’t move an inch.

The shower was still on; there was the noise of cleanser pattering onto the tile of the floor, but also—something else. Shifting plating, a light hissing noise… Optimus glanced up, focusing on the reflection of Sentinel’s stall in his mirror. That definitely was steam rising out of there.

“ _Ahn,_ Primus,” a loud _squelch,_ and Optimus gripped his bottle of cleanser tightly, “Yes, yes. Oh frag. Optimus, mmm. Harder…”

The bottle of cleanser dropped from his hand and fell into the sink with a clink, the fluid inside spilling. Optimus did not notice.

Sentinel probably didn’t either, judging from the wet, sloppy noises that were a constant now coming from his stall.

Optimus definitely didn’t know that Sentinel fantasized about him. Or was Sentinel simply messing with him? The steam and the low, sensuous moaning proved otherwise. And this wasn’t Sentinel’s style. Optimus wasn’t sure what to think. There wasn’t a single thought in his processor as he listened to Sentinel self-servicing in the common washracks. He briefly considered leaving.

He didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol sorry for the keysmash if u caught it before editing, my x key is broken so its a pain


	72. skyfire/starscream, things you said when you thought i was asleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha hey....gay....

Starscream focused on the rumbling beneath his cheek, under his frame, hoping that it would lull him to sleep. Seconds ticked by, and he realized that his efforts were futile. His processor was just too active.

He looked up, shifting a little so that the arm on his back wasn’t too restricting. Skyfire was peacefully in recharge, his optics dark.

“Skyfire,” Starscream called out quietly, but there was no response. Well, great. He was unable to sleep, and stuck on top on Skyfire; pushing Skyfire’s arm off of him would probably wake the shuttle up. He didn’t want to do that.

Then again, it wasn’t as if lying like this was uncomfortable. It was Starscream’s favourite, in fact, that he rested on top of Skyfire in his sleep. Skyfire’s arms were comforting, and the heat was pleasant. That was it, really.

Starscream scooted up just slightly before folding his arms on Skyfire’s chest, resting his own head on them. Skyfire was still asleep. He didn’t look any different, not really, his optics were just dark and he didn’t have a specific expression on his face. Starscream felt his faceplates heat up anyway, and he scoffed to himself in the dark room. Ridiculous.

This mech had reduced him to a sap, and it was simply disgusting.

He watched Skyfire’s blank visage for a moment longer, before deciding that might as well he do whatever he wanted, considering there was no one around to judge him. Not even Skyfire.

“I love you,” Starscream said, then repeated, “I love you, Skyfire.”

There still was no response from Skyfire, and nothing terrible was happening due to his confession, so Starscream could relax. His faceplates were _burning_ , but that was to be expected. It wasn’t as if he had told Skyfire this before.

He turned his face to the side, contemplating what he had said. Everything seemed much more significant; the rise of Skyfire’s front under his arms, the quiet whirr of Skyfire’s fans. He mulled over the fact that he thought of Skyfire more often than anyone else, and his odd anticipation at the idea of sleeping like this with Skyfire, till his spark gave out. Eternity.

“I really, really love you,” Starscream said, louder, somehow wanting to hear his own voice saying these words. There was still silence as a response, but he scoffed again, pushing his face against Skyfire’s plating. “Shameless,” he hissed, decidedly angry even if his whole face seemed to be on fire.

It was fine, only he heard the words that he had said. It gave him some comfort.

He envisioned telling Skyfire one day, but discarded the fantasy altogether, unwilling to imagine Skyfire’s reaction. There were things Starscream wouldn’t do. Self-preservation came first.

He loved Skyfire, anyway. He supposed that was what mattered, in the end.

//

It was most likely Starscream’s paranoia, but Skyfire seemed unable to keep his hands off of Starscream’s frame for the entirety of the next day. Whatever it was, Starscream was suspicious for the whole day. And also happy, but mostly suspicious.

 


	73. waspinator/starscream, breeding 2 [NSFW]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a continuation to that first waspscream drabble i did in this collection. here be monsters. of the necrophilic kind. kinda! its implied anyhow haha this is nasty

“How many times do I have to—ngh—tell you?” Starscream gritted out, his whole body jerking along with Waspinator’s thrusts, “I can’t have your fragging offspring, imbecile, I’m not—“

Waspinator pressed a clawed hand to Starscream’s mouth, forcing it shut, “Sstarscream better when not talking. Quiet.”

Starscream’s protests were still loud, growling and snarling behind Waspinator’s hand but it didn’t matter because he was already so close, three more snaps into Starscream’s  body and Waspinator was shuddering over the Seeker’s frame, pleasure bright in his processor. Starscream was making those low, confused noises of pain. Or it could be pleasure, Waspinator would never know for sure, but he loved them nevertheless.

He leaned to nuzzle at Starscream’s neck, his lower mandible teasing at the mech’s cables, then reached down to wrap a hand around Starscream’s exposed spike, slowly and methodically jerking him off. Starscream used to protest this treatment furiously in the beginning; he only exhaled out loud and offlined his optics now, hips rolling to fuck Waspinator’s hand.

Starscream looked like he was dying when he came. It was oddly attractive.

“I’m,” the Seeker gasped afterwards, his internal fans slowly coming to a stop, “I’m never going to be a reproductive mate. Why can’t you _get_ that?”

Waspinator disengaged from Starscream, tipping his head to watch transfluid string from Starscream’s valve on his spike before breaking off eventually. Starscream’s valve was extensively damaged, torn and loose, but Waspinator liked it that way. Its state was his doing.  

Starscream brought his legs together, hiding his valve from Waspinator’s view. The gesture made Waspinator look up at the Seeker. The expression on Starscream’s face was deadly.

“Stupid, insignificant _insect,_ ” he spat, pushing his chest out almost obscenely, “You cannot split my spark. I don’t have one!”

As always, Waspinator didn’t respond. His crazy mate had been saying that repeatedly during their numerous couplings, and it was amusing, how adamant Starscream was at trying to preserve whatever dignity he had left. A mech without a spark? Even with his fragmented mind, he knew it was nonsensical. He hadn’t been fucking a corpse for as many times as he did; Starscream was too responsive for that.

The initial plan was to pump Starscream so full of transfluid he wouldn’t be able to even think straight, then merge sparks with him for a guarantee of sparklings.

Waspinator had not expected Starscream’s cockpit to split in the middle and open up, exposing his…empty spark chamber. An empty spark chamber.

Starscream’s grin was triumphant.

“I’ve been telling you this a million times, glitch, you only have yourself to blame.”

The Seeker’s state finally registered in Waspinator’s processor, and he recoiled in disgust, jerking away. His entire frame felt like it was conducting electricity, the little organic hairs along his limbs standing as he _shuddered._

Starscream pulled himself up with effort since his hands were bound, but he sat before Waspinator with his legs splayed, thighs faintly streaked with Waspinator’s release, and he was _beautiful¸_ but why was his spark chamber empty?

“Can’t believe it?” Starscream said mockingly, rolled his shoulders once, “You can stick your hand in there all you want, feel around. Bet you can’t find anything.”

Waspinator lunged. Slammed Starscream down on his back again, pushed his shoulders down onto the ground so hard something cracked. “Starscream _never_ know when to shut up,” he snarled, mandibles snapping over the Seeker’s throat, “Stop talking!”

The Seeker opened his mouth still, but closed it again when Waspinator’s wings raised in warning, flitting over their frames. He made sure Starscream stayed quiet for a few seconds, before glancing down at the open cockpit under him.

Empty. Definitely empty, there wasn’t even the slightest light from a spark, the connectors and wires present but the spark itself was simply _not there._ Waspinator had seen dead mechs, back when his thoughts were whole and he was weak. He had seen them carted out the stockades; once there was a fight and a mech’s chest plating was torn open, and his spark chamber was empty. Like Starscream’s.

“How?” he asked, both in fear and in wonder and revulsion. He dared to reach a hand inside the cavity of Starscream’s chest, and touch the dead sensors inside. Starscream’s features twisted a little, before outright grimacing as Waspinator touched his spark chamber.

“I can still _feel_ things, boltbrain. Stop that. I don’t know how I’m not permanently offline, no one knows.”

Waspinator frowned, but scoffed anyway, at Starscream’s obvious discomfort, “Said Waspinator could touch, feel around. Bullshit, as alwaysss.” He pinched a connector’s tip and Starscream’s frame jerked, the Seeker then hissing in anger.

“That _hurt._ Why the frag are you still fondling me, you know you can’t get me sparked! That defeats the purpose of everything, so let me go. Find someone else. I’ll find someone for you if you’re that desperate, just—“

Starscream struggled under Waspinator’s weight, a wild thing. Waspinator’s wild thing.

The technoorganic contemplated Starscream’s words; the situation. He wouldn’t get Starscream sparked this way, it was true. The singing desire in Waspinator’s circuitry wouldn’t be appeased, and it was because of this desire that Waspinator had grounded Starscream in the first place. With this discovery, Starscream would most likely stop being attractive in Waspinator’s optics.

But he still was. Waspinator still wanted him, even like this, angry and spitting and sparkless. He had marked this Seeker, had possessed him wholly. Waspinator was never one to deny his desires, not after everything that had happened. Perhaps there was another way.

He touched Starscream’s spark chamber again, only lightly this time, tracing the metal casing in the flyer’s chest. Starscream hissed, but watched the hand inside him after, apprehension thrumming through his frame. It seemed morbid. What god did Starscream anger to end up like this? Broken, dead and held captive. Waspinator’s.

It wasn’t always that Waspinator had something that wholly belonged to him.

“Waspinator will keep Starscream,” he stated, and Starscream’s head snapped up, optics bright, “Because Sstarscream belong to Waspinator now. Dead or not dead, still Waspinator’s. Mine,” Waspinator placed his claw on Starscream’s empty spark chamber, “Mine.”

He dragged his limb to touch Starscream’s wrecked valve, “ _Mine._ ”

Starscream jerked bodily away from Waspinator’s touch, real horror etched in his faceplates for the very first time, “No!”

“Yes,” Waspinator replied easily, slipping two of his claws inside of Starscream and hooked them, his own transfluid slick against his digits, “Yes. Forever.”

 


	74. ironhide+bulkhead, talking about friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this during my 30 day stay in a village, like, almost 2 yrs ago, and its really just them talking. about problems and feelings. set in s4 i suppose, when ironhide joined team earth. i think they would bond. they’d totally bond. (i also like writing ironhide unsure of what he would do, ive written that like 3 times already in 3 diff fics but ok fun fact)

“I’ve had mechs who turned to the other side, too,” Bulkhead spoke with apathy in his voice. It was odd to listen to. Perhaps he didn’t care about those mechs anymore, or he was beyond anger by the thought.

“Friends?” Ironhide queried.

“Somethin’ of the like. We had fun. They made me a little homesick.”

“Must’ve hurt.”

“Yeah. You’d know.”

Ironhide tried to smile but he found himself unable to. What was there to smile about?

“Wasp meant a lot to me. Felt like killing him when they exposed him as a ‘Con. Took me a while to get over that degree of a betrayal; I mean. I’ve daydreamed about a future with the guy; in whatever direction it could have brought us into, just because I liked him so much. I got to the point where I literally didn’t think about him anymore, then they tell me that he was never a traitor.”

He barked out a laugh of disbelief, and Bulkhead cringed at the sound.

“What was I supposed to do? We could never…There’s no way to make it up to him. I lost someone I cared for all because of a stupid screw up. I don’t know what to do.”

He could feel Bulkhead watching him, and he half-heartedly berated himself for exposing so much of his personal dilemma to this fairly new colleague of his. He had known Bulkhead for a long time, but they had never really talked before. Bulkhead had been fun to mess with; he did that all the time with Wasp, way back then.

He wondered what Bulkhead thought of him now. And what Wasp would think about the fact that Ironhide was even concerned about what Bulkhead would think. Wasp never really cared for anyone who wasn’t with power, or met his definition of worthy.

He cared for Ironhide, though.

“I can’t say I understand how you feel, Ironhide,” Bulkhead said slowly, “I wasn’t as hurt as you. I wasn’t as close to Mix and Scrapper as you were with Wasp. But slag happens and people mess up. Maybe this is a second chance? He’s out there, we know it. And he might not be the same ever again, but you gotta ask yourself this question. If you think he should be in your life again and vice versa, here’s your chance. If you know that being without Wasp or what he’s become is better, then so be it. No one’s gonna judge you. Think about it, and don’t force yourself into doing something you don’t want to,” Bulkhead paused and put a hand on Ironhide’s shoulder.

“Slag happens. It hurts. And sometimes there’s nothing we can do. It’s normal, and you’re not at fault. Not you, not Wasp.”

Ironhide’s voice was so low; Bulkhead almost didn’t catch his words, “What if he blames me?”

“…He might. He may not. It’s hard to gauge how a mech would react. But he has all the right to blame _someone,_ don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” Ironhide looked at the ground, before glancing back up at Bulkhead, “Yeah. You’ve got a point.” He vented, rubbing his face with a palm, “Fragging messed up, ‘s what it is.”

“It really is,” Bulkhead agreed, “Do you blame yourself?”

“A little.”

The green mech nodded, “That’s not bad. Not necessarily good either, but it’s normal. Part of our function.”

Ironhide grinned slightly, moving his hand away from his face, “Never knew you were so philosophical, Bulkhead.”

“I’ve got my moments,” replied the mech with a smile, “You’re gonna be okay, Ironhide. Whatever you choose. It’s gonna workout somehow.”

“Sounds like a lot of blind faith,” Ironhide said, good-naturedly.

“I got a lot of faith in things. It’s still faith, anyway.”

Bulkhead went quiet in thought for a while, and then smiled wistfully, “Had faith in the Constructicons even after their very first betrayal. Like they’re still ‘Cons, and I may have manipulated them into helping me, but they did, anyway. If they didn’t start out as bad guys then maybe…they’ll never really _be_ bad guys. I don’t know. Worked for me at the time, though.”

Ironhide rubbed at his chin, contemplating, “Did that meeting feel the same like when you guys were friends?”

“Not really. I doubt things would ever feel the way it used to.”

“Then is it really worth it?”

Bulkhead turned his head to look at Ironhide, his expression solemn, “I don’t know, mech. That’s up for you to decide.”

Ironhide looked at Bulkhead in return, noting how grave he seemed. He nodded, and glanced down at the ground. And made a decision.


	75. kup/springer, semi-public [NSFW]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> semi-public sex, caught masturbating, age difference  
> an anon asked for a drabble for their friend! like a million years ago. i know nothing about these guys

Springer blatantly realized that he should probably feel slight regret by now, but that wasn’t the case at all.

 Instead of remorse, his circuitry was singing with freedom, high grade a low, pleasant buzzing in his frame and—he was turned on. It was the lazy, languid revving of his engines and the general feel-good cloud he was in, and he wanted to slowly bring himself to overload and fall asleep right after. It’d be good, too, just lying in his berth and taking his time with himself, one of those thorough, meticulous jerk-off sessions…And yet he found himself checking the supply closet when he passed by it. It was empty, and no one was around. And he was really, _really,_ revved up.

The slow, thorough self-servicing could wait.

//

Kup had seen many things for as long as he had been in service as an Autobot. Plain things, simple things, tragic things. Events that were downright hilarious.

Finding Springer in the supply closet with a hand jammed into his mouth and the other tugging at his spike like a starved mech was a tie between completely hilarious _and_ seriously hot. It was sexy as hell. Kup was amused yet he felt his interfacing protocols coming online. Been a while since he saw Springer’s frame all twisted and arched in desire.

Springer, on the other hand, had been so engrossed in fucking his own fist that it took him a few seconds to realize that there was a light breeze in the closet. He onlined his optics and panic blew them wide open, and he stared at the dark silhouette standing at the now open door of the supply closet. His optics recalibrated; he _still_ had his spike in hand; and eventually Springer realized that it was Kup, leaning against the doorframe now, grinning like a lech.

“Caught you red-handed now, didn’t I?”

Springer reset his optics and eventually groaned aloud, “ _Primus,_ Kup. You almost killed me.”

“What are ya doing here, kid? Can’t wait till you get home?”

Springer glanced down at his own spike and let it go then, sufficiently ashamed. He couldn’t possibly retract it back into its housing though, he was too hard. He was also still kind of drunk. “Yeah, actually. I was too—“ he gestured to himself like it was explanation, “Got really hot. Kind of needed to do it right away.”

He glanced behind Kup in wariness a few times; the door was still open. Kup was grinning in a way that might or might not promise good times, but the door needs to be closed. Springer shifted, fully aware that he dripping some lubricant now, “Kup? Um, can you at least close the door? For old times’ sake? I’ll take care of this real quick then I’ll go home, promise, so can you maybe—“

“Nah,” Kup said easily, “I think I’ll stay.”

Kup closed the door behind him, slowly.

“You realize a lot of soldiers are walking around this establishment, kid? Anyone coulda walked in on you all desperate like this,” he mused, approaching Springer one step at a time. It was a little dark in the closet, but Springer could see the lines of Kup’s faceplates coming closer, slowly. He licked his lips, anticipation creeping up his spinal strut.

“Lucky that it was you then, right?”

Kup chuckled, and their fronts collided gently. Springer’s hand was nudged aside by Kup’s own, and his head fell back against the shelf he had leaned on, a moan bubbling up his throat. Kup’s fingers were tight around his spike, and he _was_ about to express appreciation, but then he found a firm hand over his mouth, shutting him up. He looked at Kup with surprise.

“Still on public property, kid. Might not want to get caught fragging in here.”

Springer nodded, but his optics flashed at the mention of actually fragging, and he pushed his hips up against Kup’s hand. Kup pulled at his length with long, dragged out strokes and Springer shuddered hard with each touch. Being in a dark closet with Kup? Too good to be true. The thought was so great that Springer grabbed at Kup’s arms, trying to pull him close.

“Easy, easy,” Kup murmured, but he was having none of that. He licked up a stripe against Kup’s palm on his mouth, and Kup made a strangled noise and let go. He surged forward at the opening, reaching to drag his teeth along Kup’s jaw, pushing at the mech’s frame.

Suddenly it was just a flurry of movement. They were pushing and pulling at each other, Springer grabbing at Kup’s panelling, Kup letting go of Springer’s spike to grind against it, venting out loud in need. He was stopped short by Springer’s mouth on his, and his panel snapped open in response.

Springer reached down to palm his spike, but Kup canted his hips up, groaning in approval when Springer’s fingers grazed his valve. They parted but Springer didn’t move far, whispering against Kup’s lip components, “Gotta stay quiet, old timer. Right?”

“Cut it with the cheek, junior,” Kup hissed, “You wanna get off or not?”

“Yes, please,” he grabbed at Kup’s hips and Kup’s legs spread to accommodate Springer in between them, and dropped his voice even lower, “Yes, _please._ ”


	76. bulkhead+bumblebee+jettwins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrote this for my friend's brenna's bday sooooooooo long ago. this is pretty ridic but well. aha. ive never written them all together so its mostly just them getting into shenanigans and bee getting wrecked

Friends were nice to have. Especially if said friend had been around for a long, long time, and had always been there during both hardships and good experiences. It was a common sentiment.

Bumblebee was seriously reconsidering the general consensus about friends, however, because Bulkhead was being _ridiculous._

“You cannot seriously mean that,” Bee said in disbelief, “Take it back.”

Bulkhead looked up, “What? I’m not taking it back. It’s true.”

Bee stared even harder at Bulkhead, as if he couldn’t even decipher the reason the mech was being so unreasonable. “Bulky. You just said that Jetstorm and Jetfire are better than us in combat.”

“Isn’t it true?” Bulkhead’s question reeked of sincerity, and Bumblebee made a disgusted sound. His friend seemed surprised, “What? They’re in the Elite Guard, that’s one thing.”

The yellow mini threw his hands up in the air, but dropped his voice into a harsh whisper, “ _Sentinel Prime’s_ in the Elite Guard. You telling me he’s better than us? Than Optimus?”

Bulkhead contemplated the question, and glanced around their HQ for a bit, just in case. He shrugged eventually, “You realize he was our Sarge once, right?”

“Doesn’t disprove that he’s a—“ Bee dropped his voice again, “ _huge afthead._ ”

Bulkhead suddenly developed a coughing fit, loud enough the noise echoed in the building. Bumblebee scoffed, still annoyed by Bulkhead’s statement earlier, but secretly he was glad. He’d get slagged if any of the Elite Guard members were around to hear the things he had said. Bulkhead wiped at his mouth after making sure the coast was clear, then spoke again, “Have we ever seen the Primes fighting? Like, physically? We don’t know for sure who would win, y’know. What if it’s Sentinel?”

Fast as lightning, Bumblebee punched Bulkhead in the shoulder, hard, and pointed at the mech with an accusing finger, “Blasphemy!”

“That wasn’t necessary!” Bulkhead retorted, and rubbed at his shoulder, “Fine, whatever, but my point is that they’ve gotta be _some_ kind of good to be in the Guard.”

“They haven’t even been online for so long,” Bumblebee shook his head, “They were created after Starscream got caught, remember? That was only Earth months ago, we have loads more experience, so who are you kidding?”

“They have wings. They are literally the only flight-capable Autobots out there.”

Bumblebee seemed offended, “Excuse me? Decepticons can fly, and we still get to kick their afts. I could fly if I really wanted to.”

“With what?” Bulkhead frowned, “Your horns? I don’t see how.”

“My boosters! The Docbot could modify ‘em and I’d be all set, it’s possible,” the mini huffed and crossed his arms, “They’re not better than us. Admit it.”

Bulkhead sighed, regretting this conversation more than a little by now, “I never said anything about them being better than us, overall. You asked about combat. They have those fancy moves with the fire and the wind, and they know how to use it.”

“And I’ve got electricity and you’ve got your whole wrecking deal! You could beat them into scrap if you wanted! Why do you hate yourself so much?”

Bulkhead sighed again, louder, “Primus. Fine, Bee, we could kick their afts if we wanted to. It’d be easy.  Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Bumblebee grinned, “Yes. But also no. Now we’ve _gotta_ try fighting them. You’ll see.”

“I am not messing with two flying, childish war machines just because you’re bored, Bumblebee.”

“Think of it as practice! We’re not gonna slag each other, we’re just gonna…spar. Come on, Bulky,” Bee’s grin was too wide, “It’ll be interesting. I’m sick of training with Prowl and his so-called regimes, and I _bet_ you’re sick of pummelling barrels all day long. Sparring! It’s a good idea, right?”

Bulkhead gave him a dirty look, but his shoulders were drooping a little, his expression losing its edge. Signs that Bulkhead was giving in. Bumblebee knew he had won.

The mech rubbed at his chin once, twice, and sighed for the last time, “Fine. Whatever. I still think this is a bad idea.”

“It’s going to be _awesome_!”

//

Bumblebee stared at the sky, mouth open, optics wide as they could be as a green blur streaked over the clear blue like a little insect. This was a bad idea. This had been an extremely bad idea, indeed.

Another blur flew through the air and deftly caught the green dot, and Bumblebee vented finally, relieved. Bulkhead was going to be okay. He wasn’t going to die.

Safeguard slowly descended and set Bulkhead on the ground; the green mech seemed like a statue, frozen on the spot. Bumblebee felt a little guilty. Maybe more than a little. Safeguard flicked the blades on his back once, and disassembled, turning into two grinning mechs.

“Bulkhead okay now, safe,” Jetstorm nodded, crossing his arms, more than proud.

Jetfire agreed, “Yes, fall could have cracked head open! We couldn’t let that to be happening now. Medical bot Ratchet is good, but might not be _that_ good.”

They flanked Bulkhead and tapped him on the shoulder simultaneously, making the mech snap out of his state, “Thank you! For great opportunity of training! We have not had the training with others for long time.”

Bumblebee had been wringing his hands, and he chuckled a little, too loud for normalcy, “O-oh yeah? Good that we asked you then! Right, Bulky?”

He shut right up at the look Bulkhead was giving him.

“Yes, true!” Jetfire gesticulated, “Sometimes Jazz sir train with us but one minute he standing here,” he pointed at the ground, “One other minute, he disappear. Like magic. Safeguard get boredom.”

“It was great training with you,” Bulkhead spoke up suddenly, voice a little quiet, “We could do this again, sometimes. With less throwing me around maybe?”

The twins laughed aloud. “Okie dokie. Bumblebee there said to be giving our ‘best shot’, so that was bestest shot. You put up good fighting.”

That wasn’t the case, Bumblebee thought. They toyed with Bulkhead like he was a helpless little thing. They were just being polite, and Bumblebee had definitely, _definitely_ learned that the Jettwins were way better in combat than they were. No questions asked.

“Aw, thanks guys,” Bulkhead patted the twins’ backs in return, and walked towards Bumblebee, “Maybe next time you guys can start focusing on ground-based fighting, for training. But…” Bulkhead grabbed Bee by the shoulders and whirled him around, “Bumblebee had been _really_ looking forward to training with you. You guys should show him that trick you just pulled on me! That was really cool, he’ll like it. Right, Bee?”

“Uh…”

“With all the pleasure!” Jetstorm and Jetfire chorused, and Bumblebee tried to make a dash for it, but Bulkhead was not letting him go anywhere.

“You don’t even need to catch him, he’s made of sturdier stuff. He’ll be fine.”

And as he heard the sounds of transformation, Bumblebee came to the realization that he deserved this, and he was going to die.

**Author's Note:**

> i mostly just wanted to put all of these in one chaptered work here. mostly to indulge myself. i'll probably update the collection as i write more drabbles. apologies, nevertheless, for mistakes and anything else.


End file.
